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A Sailor  of  Fortune 


P III  lyi  |;'  1 1 ' 

A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Personal  Memoirs  of  Captain  B.  S.  Osbon 

by 

ALBERT  BIGELOW  PAINE 


NEW  YORK 

THE  McCLURE  COMPANY 
MCMVII 


Copyright , i<?o6,  by 

McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  & CO. 


Published,  September,  1906,  N 


COPYRIGHT,  1905,  1906,  BY  PEARSON  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


REMOTE  STORAGE 

Foreword 

In  preparing  these  chapters  I have  endeavoured  faith- 
fully to  preserve  certain  annals  of  a remarkable  life. 

It  has  been  my  privilege  to  set  them  down  from  the 
lips  of  the  narrator,  only  amplifying  from  such  re- 
ports and  records  as  would  complete  the  pictures  and 
give  them  connection  and  adequate  setting. 

In  so  far  as  possible  the  effort  has  been  to  retain  the 
phraseology  in  which  the  stories  were  told  to  me, 
though  no  literary  skill  of  mine  could  adequately  re- 
produce the  inimitable  manner  of  the  telling — the 
modulation  of  speech,  the  play  of  countenance,  the 
subtle  humour  that  was  as  often  a matter  of  the  in- 
flection as  of  the  word.  These  things  the  reader  will 
have  to  imagine,  each  in  his  own  way. 

The  book  is  history — some  of  it  unwritten  history 
heretofore — of  our  own  land.  Its  subject  has  helped 
to  make  that  history,  and  in  thus  allowing  it  to  be 
recorded  has  added  a further  service  to  the  nation  he 
has  served  so  faithfully  and  well. 

Albert  Bigelow  Paine 


I i 8054  I 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/sailoroffortunep00osbo_0 


Contents 


PAGE 

I.  Then  and  Now 3 

II.  The  Making  of  a Sailor  ....  5 

III.  The  First  Naval  Experience  . . 10 

IV.  The  Beginning  of  a Great  Voyage  13 

V.  The  Tale  of  a Would-be  Pirate  . 18 

VI.  Into  the  Antarctic 23 

VII.  Into  the  Arctic 27 

VIII.  How  the  Old  “ St.  Mary’s  ” Made 

History 30 

IX.  The  “ Isle  of  Sacrifice  32 

X.  More  Savages,  a Few  Minstrels,  and 

Many  Pirates 39 

XI.  I Join  the  Anglo-Chinese  Navy  . . 44 

XII.  I Buy  a Chinese  Family  and  Join  a 

Pirate  Brig 50 

XIII.  I Winter  in  the  Arctics  ....  56 

XIV.  By  a Long  Passage  I Reach  My 

Native  Land 60 

XV.  I Enter  the  Argentine  Navy  and 

Win  a Command 65 

XVI.  An  International  Complication  and 

the  End  of  Revolution  ...  71 

XVII.  I Command  the  “ Louisa  Kilham,” 
and  Find  Adventure  on  the  Coast 
of  Ireland  76 


riii  Contents 

PAGE 

XVIII.  I Abandon  Sailing  Vessels  and  En- 
counter Dangers  of  a New  Sort  83 
XIX.  I Make  a Venture  into  the  Lecture 
Field  and  Embark  in  Newspaper 

Work 90 

XX.  I Meet  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and 


Enjoy  his  Friendship  ....  96 

XXI.  The  Beginning  of  the  Civil  War  . 105 

XXII.  My  First  Meeting  with  Abraham 

Lincoln 109 

XXIII.  I Engage  in  a Second  Attempt  to 

Relieve  Sumter 112 

XXIV.  The  Arrival  in  New  York  . . . 125 


XXV.  I Join  the  “ Herald  ” Staff  and  a 

Great  Naval  Expedition  . . . 129 

XXVI.  I Witness  the  Fall  of  Port  Royal, 

and  am  Among  the  Wounded  . 138 

XXVII.  I Undertake  a Secret  Mission  for 

Secretary  Welles 150 

XXVIII.  Some  Journalistic  Adventures  . 156 

XXIX.  An  Expedition  against  New  Or- 
leans   162 

XXX.  With  Farragut  under  Trying  Con- 
ditions   172 

XXXI.  The  Passing  of  the  Forts  . . . 188 

XXXII.  The  March  of  the  Victors  . . . 199 

XXXIII.  Bearing  the  News  Northward  . 208 

XXXIV.  I Carry  News  of  the  Seven  Days’ 

Battle 217 

XXXV.  I Join  a Unique  Naval  Expedition  222 


Contents  i* 

PAGE 

XXXVI.  The  First  Encounter  of  Monitor 

and  Fort 226 


XXXVII.  Another  Trial  at  Fort  McAllister  233 
XXXVIII.  We  Get  the  “ Nashville  ” at  Last  238 
XXXIX.  Mr.  Fox  Catches  his  Game  at  Last  247 
XL.  I Become  Part  of  the  Mexican 

Problem 253 

XLI.  The  Creation  of  a Navy  . . . 259 

XLII.  Great  Plans,  and  What  Came  of 

Them 263 

XLIII.  The  Mexican  Navy  Distinguishes 

Itself 269 

XLIV.  An  Exciting  New  Year’s  Eve  . . 275 

XLV.  I Attend  the  Havre  Exposition, 

and  Welcome  Mrs.  Farragut  . 287 

XLVI.  I Have  Dealings  with  Napoleon 

III. — A Remorseful  Emperor  . 293 

XLVII.  Various  Enterprises,  and  Asphalt  301 
XLVIII.  A Mysterious  White  Race  . . . 308 

XLIX.  Locating  Cervera’s  Fleet  . . . 315 

L.  In  a Quiet  Harbour 325 


A Sailor  of  Fortune 


I 

Then  and  Now 


ONE  reason  why  I have  seen  so  much  is  this: 
when  as  a sailor  I went  ashore  “ on  oppor- 
tunity,” instead  of  steering  straight  for  a 
gin-mill  I strolled  off  to  get  some  idea  of  the  port  and 
of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  people.  When  I 
returned  to  the  ship  I was  regarded  as  a sort  of  en- 
cyclopaedia of  general  information,  and  I kept  my 
knowledge  fresh  by  frequently  turning  it  over.  That 
is  why  I have  remembered. 

Another  thing, — there  was  a good  deal  more  to  see 
in  those  early  days.  Pirates,  cannibals,  and  mutineers 
abounded,  and  added  romance,  and  even  zest,  to  a 
seafaring  life.  The  steam  and  telegraph  were  un- 
known and  strange  things  took  place  on  the  high  seas, 
which  never  could  happen  in  these  days  of  shortened 
time  and  quick  communication.  The  Pacific  Ocean 
was  then  a vast  and  almost  uncharted  mystery  into 
which  men  and  vessels  disappeared,  to  be  heard  of  no 
more  for  months,  for  years,  perhaps  forever.  News 
was  the  rarest  thing  we  knew — next,  reading  matter. 
A small  piece  of  newspaper  would  be  read  and  re-read 
by  every  sailor  on  board.  When  we  visited  other  ships 
it  was  called  “ gamming,”  and  the  first  question  asked 
was,  “ Have  you  seen  any  whales?  ” and  then,  “ Have 
you  anything  to  read  ? ” The  Bible  was  read  in  our 


4 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

forecastle,  from  end  to  end,  seven  times  within  a 
period  of  eighteen  months.  Messages  from  home — 
did  not  come.  I was  once  absent  five  years  and  eight 
months  and  returned  without  knowing  whether  a sin- 
gle member  of  my  family  was  alive. 

You  will  see  how  different  things  were  then.  The 
ocean  was  a world  unto  itself — the  law  of  the  sea  was 
not  like  the  law  of  the  land.  The  story  of  much  that 
happened  in  that  time  would  be  set  down  now  as  a 
“ sailor’s  yarn,”  but  nothing  which  a sailor  could  in- 
vent would  be  more  marvellous  than  the  simple  truth, 
and  this,  as  I saw  it,  I shall  try  to  tell. 


II 

The  Making  of  a Sailor 

MY  great-grandfather’s  name  was  Osborne — 
a manufacturer  of  corn  brooms  at  old  Had- 
ley, Massachusetts.  In  those  days  it  was 
customary  for  broom-makers  to  use  a burning-brand 
in  marking  their  goods,  and  my  ancestor,  requiring 
one,  sent  for  it  to  Boston.  There  is  no  doubt  but  that 
he  was  a very  poor  penman.  The  maker  of  brands 
deciphered  his  name  as  “ Osbon,”  and  thus  it  was 
spelled  on  the  brand  which  in  due  time  reached 
Hadley. 

Now  it  was  a long  journey  to  Boston  and  back  in 
those  days,  and  the  season  was  far  advanced.  More- 
over, burning-brands  were  expensive.  The  old  gentle- 
man was  anxious  to  get  his  goods  on  the  market  and 
could  afford  neither  the  time  nor  the  money  for  an- 
other experiment,  so  he  changed  his  name  to  fit  the 
burning-brand.  It  is  a curious  thing  that  the  branch 
of  the  family  which  adopted  this  abbreviated  name 
has  been  of  an  entirely  different  brand  from  those 
who  retained  the  two  missing  letters.  Perhaps  I might 
mention  here  that  my  great-grandmother  was  the  first 
white  woman  born  in  Pittsfield,  Massachusetts. 

For  myself,  I was  bom  of  poor  but  Methodist  par- 
ents, August  16th,  1827,  at  Rye,  Westchester  County, 
New  York,  and  was  the  son  of  a minister,  who  in 

5 


6 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

those  days  moved  every  year.  Perhaps  it  was  because 
of  this  that  I inherited  a roving  disposition. 

I spent  every  summer  of  my  childhood  life  at  my 
great-grandfather’s  farm  in  Saratoga  County,  where 
the  battle  of  Bemis  Heights  was  fought.  At  the  time 
a great  many  Indians  lived  in  that  section  of  the 
State,  and  a large  number  had  quartered  themselves 
on  my  great-grandfather’s  domains.  In  fact,  we  saw 
more  Indians  than  we  did  white  folk.  They  grew  to 
be  very  fond  of  me  and  used  to  take  me  off  to  their 
camp;  and  I was  fond  of  going  in  their  canoes.  They 
made  me  for  my  special  use  a little  birch-bark  craft, 
probably  five  or  six  feet  long.  I soon  became  an  adept 
in  canoe  paddling,  and  when  they  missed  me  at  the 
house  they  would  send  one  of  the  men  over  to  the 
camp  after  me,  and  I was  usually  found  in  a canoe. 
This  was  my  first  experience  in  navigation. 

My  early  reading  was  “ Robinson  Crusoe,”  “ Swiss 
Family  Robinson,”  and  books  of  that  nature.  It  was 
natural  therefore  that  I should  acquire  a love  for  ad- 
ventures of  the  deep.  At  school  I excelled  only  in 
geography  and  history,  while  for  other  reasons  which 
it  is  not  needful  here  to  set  down  I was  accounted  the 
worst  boy  in  the  village.  Being  thus  “ between  the 
devil  and  the  deep  sea,”  as  it  were,  I chose  the  latter, 
and  made  up  my  mind  to  visit  strange  lands.  I ran 
away  at  the  age  of  eleven. 

I was  then  at  Sheffield,  Massachusetts,  at  boarding 
school,  and  I got  over  to  Hudson,  New  York,  without 
being  caught,  and  enlisted  on  a canal  boat  bound  up 
stream.  At  Troy  I became  one  of  her  chief  towpath 
engineers,  driving  the  horses,  with  a bill-of-fare  of 


The  Making  of  a Sailor  7 

salt  pork  and  potatoes  twenty-one  times  a week.  I re- 
signed at  Schenectady  and  came  back  down  the  river. 
But  my  father  was  preaching  in  New  York  City  and 
the  alarm  had  gone  out.  I was  captured  on  my  ar- 
rival in  the  metropolis,  taken  home,  cleaned  up,  and 
endowed  with  a new  suit  of  clothes.  Then  I ran  away 
again. 

This  time  I shipped  on  a pilot  boat  in  New  York 
Harbour.  The  harbour  was  poorly  charted  then,  and 
we  used  to  “ heave  the  lead,”  beginning  at  the  Bat- 
tery, out  over  the  Bar.  I had  a knack  for  learning 
this  kind  of  thing  and  became  an  expert  leadsman — 
an  accomplishment  very  useful  to  me  in  later  years. 

I made  three  cruises  on  the  pilot  boat  before  I was 
caught  again,  and  remained  at  home  nearly  a month 
before  I ran  away  for  a third  time.  I now  engaged  in 
the  towing  business.  I began  with  the  old  tugboat 
United  States,  and  was  assistant  cook  and  deck  hand. 
Also,  I learned  to  steer.  I eluded  capture  for  some 
time,  and  after  a few  months  joined  the  tug  Pluto, 
the  smallest  towboat  in  the  harbour  and  the  best 
money-maker,  for  the  reason  that  she  stole  her  fuel — 
in  those  days  cord-wood — from  the  schooners  loaded 
with  Virginia  pine.  Eventually  I was  caught  again. 

I was  caught  repeatedly  after  that.  Altogether  I 
spent  about  three  years  in  running  away  and  being 
dragged  home.  I was  once  taken  in  Fulton  Market, 
sleeping  in  a fish-wagon.  I had  on  a suit  of  sailor’s 
blue  dungaree,  and  my  mother  was  so  ashamed  of  me 
on  the  boat  going  home  that  she  wrapped  me  up  in 
her  shawl  and  put  me  to  bed,  letting  it  be  understood 
that  I was  ill. 


8 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

My  parents  made  up  their  minds  now  that  it  was 
useless  to  try  to  keep  me  on  land.  My  father  sought 
out  a friend,  Captain  Francis  M.  French  of  the  ship 
Cornelia,  engaged  in  the  emigrant  trade  between  New 
York  and  Liverpool,  and  at  last  I was  shipped  offi- 
cially and  went  to  sea.  I was  then  between  thirteen 
and  fourteen  years  of  age. 

We  were  eighteen  days  making  the  trip  to  Liver- 
pool, and  most  of  that  time  I was  unusually  ill.  It  was 
one  Saturday  night  when  we  entered  Prince’s  Dock, 
famous  for  packet  ships  in  those  days,  and  on  Sunday 
morning  I went  ashore  to  get  my  breakfast — no  cook- 
ing or  fires  then  being  allowed  on  a ship  in  port.  The 
first  thing  that  attracted  my  attention  was  the  ringing 
of  the  chimes  of  the  old  St.  Nicholas  church,  and  I sat 
down  on  the  steps  and  cried  like  a child.  It  was  the 
first  time  I was  ever  homesick,  and  I have  never  been 
in  Liverpool  since  that  I did  not  seek  out  those  steps 
and  sit  down  and  recall  my  first  ocean  voyage. 

Queen  Victoria,  accompanied  by  the  Prince  Consort 
and  her  eldest  two  children,  paid  her  first  visit  to 
Liverpool  just  at  this  time.  I was  very  anxious  to  see 
her,  but  the  streets  were  roped  off  where  she  was  to 
pass  and  it  was  impossible  to  push  through  the  crowd. 
So  a shipmate  of  mine,  a boy,  Tommy,  and  I got  up 
a sham  fight  and  a ring  was  quickly  formed  for  us, 
British  style.  We  fought  our  way  toward  the  rope, 
the  crowd  making  room.  When  we  reached  the 
hempen  barrier  our  war  was  at  an  end.  We  saw  the 
Queen. 

The  Cornelia  was  a fine  ship  of  about  eight  hundred 
tons,  small  enough  for  these  days  of  twenty-thousand- 


The  Making  of  a Sailor  9 

ton  steamers,  but  one  of  the  largest  up  to  that  time 
that  had  entered  the  port  of  Liverpool,  and  we  brought 
back  with  us  nearly  one  thousand  Irish  emigrants.  A 
volume  might  be  written  upon  a single  passage  of  the 
emigrant  ship  of  those  days.  The  food  and  accommo- 
dations need  not  be  described.  In  bad  weather  every- 
body was  seasick.  Boxes,  barrels,  beds,  men,  women, 
and  children  were  tumbled  in  a promiscuous  heap, 
and  often  we  were  obliged  to  go  below,  perhaps  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  to  straighten  them  out.  It 
was  simply  hell  afloat. 

Typhus  fever  broke  out  during  the  passage  home. 
A large  number  died  and  were  buried  at  sea,  sewed 
up  in  pieces  of  old  canvas,  weighted  with  a few  pounds 
of  coal.  Sharks  followed  the  vessel  constantly,  and 
I have  seen  them  grab  a body  before  it  was  three  feet 
under  water. 

We  arrived  in  New  York  Harbour  Saturday  night 
and  I was  permitted  to  go  ashore  from  Quarantine 
next  day.  My  father  was  then  preaching  in  Brook- 
lyn, and  I walked  into  the  church  just  as  he  was 
beginning  his  sermon.  This  time  I had  returned  hon- 
ourably, and  clean.  I had  on  a neat  blue  shirt,  white 
duck  trousers,  a black  silk  neckerchief,  and  a jaunty 
sennit  hat,  made  of  braided  grass,  such  as  sailors  wore 
in  those  days.  As  I walked  down  the  aisle  his  eye,  and 
the  eyes  of  his  listeners,  most  of  whom  I knew,  fell 
upon  me.  It  has  been  said  that  my  father  that  day 
preached  the  shortest  sermon  on  record.  I had  been 
gone  about  three  months  and  was  a genuine  sailor 
at  last. 


Ill 

The  First  Naval  Experience 


% 


I NOW  remained  at  home  for  a time,  and  went 
to  a private  school  in  Court  Street,  Brooklyn,  to 
study  navigation.  But  my  teacher  knew  less  of 
the  subject  than  I had  acquired  with  my  small  prac- 
tical experience,  and  my  hours  of  study  being  short 
I became  a disturbing  element  in  the  school.  After  a 
few  weeks  my  father  succeeded  in  getting  me  into 
the  ship  Rainbow,  an  East  Indiaman,  bound  for  Can- 
ton, China.  But  one  day  before  sailing,  at  the  Cap- 
tain’s house — his  name  was  Hays — I went  swimming 
in  a large  tank  in  the  attic,  which  proved  to  be  the 
water  supply  for  family  use,  and  such  was  the  Cap- 
tain’s wrath  that  I concluded  not  to  go  with  him  to 
the  Orient.  My  father  was  deeply  grieved  at  the  time 
that  I had  lost  such  an  excellent  opportunity,  but  it 
may  be  added  that  some  years  later  when  I came  home 
he  said  to  me : 

“ My  boy,  I think  you  know  more  than  I do  about 
ships.  Do  you  know  that  the  Rainbow  has  never  been 
heard  from  ? ” 

The  Rainbow  had  been  lost  on  her  homeward  pas- 
sage. She  had  sailed  in  company  with  another  tea 
and  silk  ship,  and  a race  home  had  been  arranged. 
Captain  Hays  had  said  to  his  rival  and  those  standing 
around : “ I’ll  beat  you  home,  or  I’ll  go  to  hell.”  The 

IO 


The  First  Naval  Experience  1 1 

last  seen  of  the  Rainbow  was  off  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope.  It  is  supposed  she  was  caught  aback  in  a squall 
and  went  down  stern  foremost.  Perhaps  she  became 
a consort  of  the  Flying  Dutchman  and  is  still  trying 
to  round  the  Cape.  Off  Good  Hope  we  always  looked 
for  the  Flying  Dutchman  in  those  days. 

I now  resolved  to  join  the  Navy,  and  went  down 
to  No.  9 Cherry  Street,  the  “ Naval  Rendezvous,” 
where  a Board  of  Officers  was  in  session.  The  store- 
keeper down  stairs  coached  me  to  present  myself  as 
an  able  seaman,  the  idea  being  the  higher  rating  I got, 
the  more  plunder  for  him.  I was  examined  physically, 
and  passed,  though  the  surgeon  was  a little  dubious 
about  my  age  and  stature — the  former  being  some- 
what magnified  and  the  latter  always  small.  Then  the 
line  officers  questioned  me  about  “ handing,”  reefing 
and  steering,  and  I boxed  the  compass  to  their  entire 
satisfaction. 

I was  now  placed  on  the  receiving  ship  North  Caro- 
lina, but  it  was  an  uninteresting  place,  and  I used  to 
run  away  about  every  Saturday  afternoon.  I would 
say  to  an  officer  leaving  the  ship,  “ Can  I carry  your 
grip,  sir?”  and  when  we  got  to  the  gate  the  guard 
would  think  I was  the  officer’s  servant  and  let  me  pass. 
It  was  a good  scheme,  but  it  wore  out  at  last  and  I 
had  to  devise  another.  One  day  I walked  up  near 
the  gate  with  a two-foot  rule  and  a memorandum 
book,  and  began  measuring — “ Two  foot — four  foot,” 
etc.  When  the  guard  asked  what  I was  doing  I said, 
“ Don’t  bother  me,  you  will  break  my  count.”  He 
thought  it  must  be  all  right  then,  and  I measured  my- 
self out.  I usually  went  home  Saturday  night  and  was 


i2  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

regularly  in  the  “ brig  ” or  ship’s  prison  every  Mon- 
day morning. 

I was  soon  transferred  from  the  North  Carolina  to 
the  store-ship  Supply,  and  again  to  the  schooner 
Onkahaye,  a double-bottomed  vessel,  the  only  craft  of 
her  kind  ever  in  the  United  States  Navy.  I found  pro- 
motion very  slow.  I had  become  a gunner’s  mate,  but 
this  advance  carried  with  it  only  a can  of  brickdust, 
a bottle  of  oil  and  a polishing  rag,  and  my  chief  duty 
was  that  of  brightening  the  brass  screw  caps  of  the 
carronades  on  the  spar  deck.  I concluded  to  resign, 
and  did  so.  Subsequently  my  father  obtained  a dis- 
charge for  me  in  the  regular  way.  I think  they  gave 
it  to  him  very  willingly. 

I now  departed  from  my  ordinary  custom  and 
sought  assistance  of  a whaling  agent  in  South  Street. 
A few  days  later  I was  in  New  Bedford,  Massachu- 
setts, and  there  was  selected  by  the  captain  of  the 
whale  ship  Junior  as  a foremast  hand — not  a green- 
horn— because  I had  been  at  sea.  My  physique  was 
against  me,  but  the  captain  decided  my  strength  by 
placing  his  two  hands — as  broad  as  the  hands  of 
Providence — on  my  shoulders  and  trying  to  “ buckle  ” 
or  bend  my  spine  backward.  I stood  the  test  and  was 
accepted.  I now  began  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
voyages  ever  made  by  any  vessel,  with  one  of  the 
ablest  whalemen  and  best  men  that  ever  sailed  the  sea. 


IV 

The  Beginning  of  a Great  Voyage 

THE  whale  ship  Junior , Captain  Silas  Tink- 
ham,  cleared  from  the  port  of  New  Bedford 
on  the  13th  day  of  December,  1847,  with  a 
crew  of  twenty-two  men  before  the  mast,  all  green- 
horns except  “ Old  Bill,”  an  English  man-o’-war’s 
man,  a Kanaka,  and  myself.  Then  there  were  the  cap- 
tain, three  mates,  four  boat  steerers,  cooper,  carpen- 
ter, and  a negro  cook — the  last  named  being  the  only 
man  I ever  met  in  all  my  seafaring  who  was  born 
in  Rye,  New  York,  my  own  native  towm. 

The  Junior  was  a little  ship — about  three  hundred 
and  seventy-eight  tons  register,  and  a trifle  over  a hun- 
dred feet  long.  Such  a craft  to-day  could  be  stored  as 
long  boat  on  the  deck  of  an  ocean  liner,  yet  she  had  a 
capacity  when  full  of  oil  of  about  four  thousand  bar- 
rels, carried  four  boats  and  four  years’  rations  for 
thirty-three  men.  Our  course  was  shaped  across  the 
Atlantic  down  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  where  we 
captured  a “ hundred-barrel  ” sperm  whale — a rare 
prize — which  gave  most  of  us  our  first  experience  in 
whale  fishing.  We  now  entered  the  Indian  Ocean, 
where  we  met  our  first  cyclone — the  memory  of  which 
haunts  me  still. 

The  weather  had  been  generally  good,  but  it  was  a 
time  for  wind,  and  we  were  “ lying-to  ” under  a close- 

13 


1 4 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

reefed  main  topsail,  main  spencer,  and  foretop- 
mast staysail,  and  the  wheel  was  lashed  “ a-lee.” 
At  noon  all  hands  went  to  dinner,  leaving  the  decks 
entirely  deserted.  I came  on  deck  to  get  a pot  of 
drinking  water,  and  as  I went  aft  I saw  a strange 
movement  in  the  surrounding  waters.  The  sea  near 
the  ship  was  quiet,  but  on  the  horizon  it  was  foaming, 
dancing,  and  bobbing  in  a most  disturbing  manner. 
The  sky  had  a weird,  strange  colouring,  and  the  light- 
ning made  it  a network  of  zigzag  streaks.  I watched 
it  for  a few  seconds  and  then  ran  to  the  companion- 
way  and  called, 

“ Come  on  deck,  Captain  Tinkham,  I think  some- 
thing dreadful  is  about  to  happen ! ” 

In  an  instant  he  was  there,  followed  by  the  three 
mates.  All  hands  came  piling  after  and  were  ordered 
to  shorten  sail.  But  before  a movement  could  be  made 
the  storm  had  struck  us,  ropes  had  parted,  sails  had 
been  blown  into  ribbons,  and  the  little  ship  was  on  her 
beam  ends  with  the  water  almost  up  to  her  hatch 
coamings.  We  were  in  the  vortex  of  a cyclone.  Then 
followed  a most  appalling  time.  The  sea  suddenly  be- 
came as  flat  as  a floor,  and  the  spoon-drift  almost 
blinding,  while  the  rigging  screeched  like  an  Aeolian 
harp  of  the  inferno  that  it  was.  Men  clung  or  were 
pinned  fast  where  they  stood.  One  of  the  thirty-foot 
boats  was  blown  from  her  davits  and  in  some  unac- 
countable manner  was  impaled  on  the  crossjack  yard- 
arm. Sails  were  stripped  from  the  yards  as  if  they 
had  been  made  of  cheese  cloth  and  the  rigging  aloft 
was  covered  with  threads  of  cotton,  which  gave  it  an 
uncanny  look.  The  wind  whirled  ’round  and  ’round 


Beginning  of  a Great  Voyage  15 

the  compass  and  the  screeching  aloft  varied  with  each 
angle.  The  day  wore  on  with  no  abatement  of  this 
awful  war  of  the  elements,  and  darkness  fell  as  an 
added  terror,  with  blinding  electric  flashes  and  ear- 
splitting  thunder.  No  one  of  us  expected  to  outlive 
that  night. 

Finally  toward  morning  there  came  a sudden  lull 
and  a terrific  downpour  of  rain.  To  escape  this  we 
crept  below,  when  suddenly  it  changed  to  hail,  which 
kept  up  a deafening  roar  for  several  minutes;  then 
followed  silence — an  appalling  stillness  that  turned  the 
heart  sick. 

Someone  at  last  ventured  on  deck  and  called, 
“ Come  quick,  boys ! ” and  all  hands  crowded  up  to 
find  the  decks  covered  with  between  three  and  four 
inches  of  hailstones  the  size  of  marbles,  while  in  the 
distance  a huge  cloud  belching  lightning  and  thun- 
der showed  the  direction  our  demon  had  taken.  Then 
the  sun  came  up,  and  a fair  wind  blew  through  the 
cotton-covered  rigging;  but  we  were  too  exhausted  to 
undertake  repairs  and  were  ordered  below  for  rest,  all 
except  an  officer  and  two  men,  who  were  relieved 
every  two  hours.  Within  a few  days  we  had  a full 
new  set  of  sails  bent  and  our  ship  righted ; but  another 
vessel,  the  Emerald , that  had  been  our  companion, 
was  never  heard  of  again. 

Perhaps  this  violent  storm  frightened  the  whales 
out  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  for  we  met  with  no  further 
success  and  after  some  months’  cruising  we  made 
our  way  to  Angier  Point,  on  the  island  of  Java,  to 
recruit  ship. 

It  was  at  Angier  Point  that  I met  with  another  new 


1 6 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

experience — that  of  being  buried  alive,  though  in  this 
case  by  intention  and  for  a good  purpose. 

Soon  after  our  arrival  I was  seized  with  a very 
severe  attack  of  the  Java  fever  and  it  was  not  believed 
that  I could  pull  through.  Captain  Tinkham  had 
loaded  me  full  of  calomel;  but  it  was  no  use,  and  I 
had  my  shipmates  carry  me  on  deck  to  look  at  the 
sun  for  the  last  time.  A Malay  merchant  was  on 
board,  and,  looking  at  me,  said: 

“ Bury  him  on  shore  and  draw  out  fever.”  Then 
he  told  them  how  to  do  it,  and  I was  taken  ashore,  and 
under  a huge  banyan  tree  buried  up  to  my  neck  in 
the  warm  earth  in  a comfortable  sitting  position,  with 
an  awning  over  my  head,  and  two  shipmates,  a Malay 
and  a Dutch  soldier,  to  look  after  my  comfort  and 
protection.  The  latter  was  necessary,  for  there  was  a 
water  conduit  nearby  where  tigers  often  came  down 
to  drink,  and  it  was  not  a comfortable  thought  that 
one  of  them  could  walk  up  and  bite  my  head  off  in 
case  my  guards  got  frightened  or  were  overpowered 
by  the  savage  beasts.  Neither  did  I relish  the  idea  of 
bugs  and  worms  that  might  be  creeping  through  the 
soil,  but  my  Malay  friend  assured  me  that  such  was 
the  poison  of  the  fever  absorbed  by  the  soil  that  no 
insect  would  remain  near  me. 

[Well,  I stayed  nearly  two  days  in  that  hole,  and 
the  first  night  a tigress  and  two  cubs  did  come  for 
water,  and  there  was  anxiety  and  excitement  enough 
in  our  camp  before  the  snarling  creatures  were  put 
to  flight  to  throw  me  into  a profuse  perspiration, 
which  no  doubt  was  beneficial — at  all  events  the  na- 
tives said  so,  and  sure  enough  the  fever  was  all  gone. 


Beginning  of  a Great  Voyage  17 

I was  removed  from  my  grave  in  a very  weak  condi- 
tion, taken  on  board,  and  in  a few  days  was  nearly 
well.  I have  heard  of  a similar  treatment  recently 
adopted  in  our  own  country  for  various  diseases,  and 
I think  it  may  be  safely  recommended.  The  earth  is  a 
great  disinfectant  and  healer. 

At  the  end  of  about  two  weeks  we  left  Angier  Point 
and  shaped  our  course  for  the  New  Zealand  whaling 
grounds,  but  still  with  no  success,  and  at  last  put  into 
the  little  port  of  Mongonui  for  various  supplies  and  a 
little  shore  liberty  for  the  men.  Nothing  of  note  hap- 
pened here  except  that  a cooper  of  the  whaler  Clifford, 
Wayne  while  in  swimming  was  suddenly  assailed  by 
a shark  and  bitten  in  two  before  we  could  rescue  him. 
From  Mongonui  we  cruised  to  the  westward  again, 
often  lowering  for  whales,  but  with  no  luck.  We  had 
been  out  nearly  a year  now  with  only  one  capture. 
“ Old  Bill  ” said  there  must  be  a Jonah  on  board,  and 
until  he  was  found  and  made  to  quit  the  ship  we 
should  never  catch  a whale.  We  believed  “ Old  Bill,” 
but  the  question  was,  who  was  our  “ Jonah.”  It  so 
happened  that  it  became  my  fortune  to  find  him. 


The  Tale  of  a Would-be  Pirate 

ONE  day  the  four  boats  were  away  chasing  a 
school  of  whales  on  our  weather  beam,  and 
five  of  us,  including  a boy  named  Tom  Pierce 
and  I,  were  left  on  board  to  work  the  vessel  to  wind- 
ward after  the  boats.  Tom  had  some  hatchets  to  be 
sharpened  and  he  asked  me  to  turn  the  grindstone 
for  him.  The  stone  was  forward  of  the  try  works, 
where  the  others  could  not  hear.  As  I sat  on  the 
fore-hatch  turning  the  crank,  Tom  first  made  me 
swear  secrecy,  and  then  unfolded  a plan  to  me  that 
made  my  hair  stand  on  end.  This  was  nothing 
less  than  to  seize  the  ship,  at  just  such  a time  as 
this,  compelling  the  others  to  join  us — killing  them 
if  they  refused,  I continued  turning  the  crank 
while  Tom  unfolded  his  plan  in  most  minute  detail, 
showing  that  it  must  have  been  a study  of  months. 
My  effort  was  not  to  let  him  see  that  I was  alarmed  or 
shocked  at  his  idea.  It  would  be  easy,  he  said,  to  tell 
the  people  in  any  port  that  the  entire  ship’s  crew,  be- 
ing off  in  the  boats,  had  been  attacked  by  a school  of 
whales  and  the  boats  destroyed  before  the  ship  could 
reach  them — the  crews  drowned  or  torn  to  pieces  by 
sharks.  When  I suggested  that  we  might  be  becalmed 
and  the  boats  overhaul  us,  he  declared  it  would  be  an 
easy  matter*  with  the  firearms  we  carried  to  kill  every 

18 


The  Tale  of  a Would-be  Pirate  19 

man  on  the  boats  as  they  approached,  or  if  a breeze 
came  up  we  could  run  the  boats  down  and  drown  the 
men,  a pirate  crew  could  be  organized  in  an  Austra- 
lian port,  and  then  we  would  roam  the  seas  in  search 
of  prey. 

The  more  he  talked  the  more  I thought  I should 
be  obliged  to  use  a hatchet  upon  this  would-be  buc- 
caneer, but  before  our  discussion  ended  the  boats  re- 
turned and  Tom  left  me,  saying,  “ Now,  Jack  ” (I 
was  called  Jack  at  sea),  “ don’t  forget  your  oath.” 

Imagine  my  state  of  mind  with  a load  upon  it  like 
the  secret  of  this  young  villain,  the  son  of  a good 
mother,  who  had  sent  him  to  sea  with  a Bible  as  a 
parting  gift.  I could  not  sleep,  especially  when  he  was 
on  watch,  and,  though  eager  to  tell  the  Captain,  I was 
oath  bound,  which  in  those  days  was  a solemn  thing. 
Even  if  I told,  I knew  that  Tom  would  be  put  in 
double-irons,  or  lashed  to  the  rigging  and  whipped, 
and  this  I did  not  wish  to  see.  Finally  I was  completely 
unstrung  and  preferred  being  aloft,  looking  for  whales, 
or  at  the  wheel — anywhere  away  from  Tom.  I felt 
now  that  I knew  who  was  our  “ Jonah,”  but  how  to 
get  rid  of  him  was  the  heaviest  heart-burden  of  my 
life. 

One  day  the  Captain  resolved  to  return  to  Mon- 
gonui  to  recruit  ship.  This  was  good  news,  for  I 
thought  here  might  be  a chance  to  get  rid  of  Tom. 
On  the  night  before  we  reached  port  I said  to  him : 

“ Tom,  when  your  watch  goes  on  liberty  to-mor- 
row you  must  leave  the  ship  never  toreturn.  With 
your  bundle  of  stuff  for  trading  with  ^^Mktives,  pack 
up  your  duds  and  get  away  from  tfaaSP'lTp  as  far  and 


20  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

as  fast  as  you  can.  It  is  best  for  you  that  you  do  this 
and  it  is  best  for  me,  for  I cannot  bear  this  suspense 
any  longer.  Go,  for  your  mother’s  sake,  for  your  own 
sake,  and  for  mine.  If  you  don’t  I shall  break  my 
oath.” 

He  looked  at  me  a moment  and  then  said,  “ All 
right,  Jack,  I’ll  go.”  I stood  an  extra  watch  that 
night  on  the  plea  that  I could  not  sleep  in  the  warm 
forecastle.  I did  not  know  what  Tom  might  attempt 
if  I went  to  bed.  At  daybreak  the  liberty  men  were  in 
the  boats,  and  Tom  was  there  with  his  bundle.  When 
the  boats  went  ashore  again  to  bring  off  the  men, 
Tom  was  not  among  them.  I never  saw  him  again. 

After  two  or  three  days  searchers  were  sent  out 
to  find  him,  but  without  success.  Then,  a day  or  two 
before  we  sailed,  I said  to  the  Captain  that  it  was 
better  not  to  find  him,  and  when  he  demanded  my 
reasons  I told  him  that  if  he  would  promise  not  to 
try  to  get  Tom  back  I would  tell  him  an  amazing 
story,  but  not  until  we  were  ten  days’  sail  from  the 
coast  of  New  Zealand,  when  there  would  be  no  chance 
of  our  returning  to  Mongonui.  I told  him  that  so 
long  as  we  were  in  reach  of  Tom  I was  under  an  oath, 
which  I considered  sacred. 

It  was  a long  time  before  Captain  Tinkham  prom- 
ised me.  He  coaxed  and  even  threatened,  but  I would 
not  give  in.  Finally  he  agreed  to  give  up  the  search 
for  Tom  on  my  conditions.  It  was  a great  load  off 
my  mind,  but  I had  many  doubts  as  to  how  the  Cap- 
tain would  receive  the  story.  I felt  sure  he  would 
blame  me  severely  for  not  coming  to  him  at  once 
with  the  tale. 


The  Tale  of  a Would-be  Pirate  21 

It  was  an  anxious  ten  days  that  passed,  especially 
as  the  Captain  more  than  once  besieged  me  to  reveal 
my  secret  without  further  delay.  I know  now  that  he 
saw  it  weighing  on  my  mind,  and  feared  I would  be 
sick  before  the  final  day.  It  came  at  last,  and  Cap- 
tain Tinkham  took  me  into  his  cabin  and  I told  him  the 
story  from  beginning  to  end.  He  never  spoke  a word 
until  I had  finished ; then  after  a long  pause  he  said : 

“My  God!  Tom  must  be  crazy!  What  a narrow 
escape  for  us  all ! ” 

Then  he  chided  me  for  not  telling  him  sooner,  as 
I knew  he  would;  but  Captain  Tinkham  was  always 
kind  and  in  some  things  he  commended  me,  too.  He 
questioned  and  cross-questioned  me  for  a long  time, 
then  he  told  me  to  go  forward  and  say  nothing  to  any 
one.  The  men  were  curious  to  know  why  I had  been 
in  the  cabin  so  long,  but  I did  not  tell  them.  I said 
they  would  know  in  due  time. 

On  the  following  Sunday  morning  the  word  was 
passed  forward  by  the  second  mate  that  all  hands  were 
to  go  aft  at  two  bells  (one  o’clock),  and  during  the 
morning  there  was  much  speculation  as  to  what  was 
going  to  happen.  I knew.  I knew  the  men  were  go- 
ing to  be  told  about  Tom  Pierce. 

That  Sunday,  the  dinner  with  its  tempting  plum 
duff  was  fairly  bolted,  and  every  man  was  ready  to 
march  to  the  quarter-deck  before  the  next  striking  of 
the  bell.  When  it  struck  twice  we  were  quickly  as- 
sembled, and  the  Captain  with  his  back  against  the 
mizzenmast  said  to  me,  “Jack,  come  here!”  and  I 
stepped  out  of  the  line  and  took  my  place  by  his  side. 
“ Boys,”  he  went  on,  “ I have  called  you  aft  to  hear 


22  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

the  story  of  why  Tom  Pierce  ran  away.”  Then,  turn- 
ing to  me,  “ Jack,  tell  your  story,  word  for  word  as 
you  told  it  to  me,  to  your  shipmates  assembled  here.” 
He  placed  me  directly  in  front  of  him,  and  I began 
and  told  all  that  had  happened  that  day  when  they 
were  away  after  whales  and  I was  turning  the  grind- 
stone for  Tom.  It  was  a sight  I shall  never  forget — 
those  thirty-two  men  and  officers  listening  to  a sim- 
ple statement  of  a plan  to  murder  them  all  and  seize 
the  ship — and  how  I had  carried  the  secret  among 
them  for  so  many  days.  At  the  end  I pleaded  justifi- 
cation for  this  on  the  ground  that  Tom  had  a good 
mother  and  would  perhaps  now  reform,  and  also  that 
with  Tom’s  desertion  we  might  get  rid  of  the 
“ Jonah  ” which  had  brought  us  our  bad  luck  and 
might  have  cost  us  our  lives.  I stopped  then,  and  the 
Captain  made  a little  speech  on  his  own  account.  He 
said  he  blamed  me  for  not  telling  him  sooner,  but  on 
the  whole  I had  done  the  ship  a service,  and  he  ended 
by  saying,  “ Now,  boys,  give  Jack  three  cheers,” 
which  I suppose  they  did,  though  I did  not  hear  them, 
for  the  strain  had  been  too  much  and  I had  to  be 
carried  from  the  deck.  I was  sick  then,  sure  enough, 
for  several  days,  but  when  I got  out  again  I was  well 
in  a minute  and  happier  than  I had  been  for  months. 


VI 

Into  the  Antarctic 


STILL  we  captured  no  whales,  and  men  like  me, 
whose  pay  was  to  be  one  barrel  of  oil  out  of 
every  one  hundred  and  eighty  taken,  began  to 
feel  that  the  chances  of  a fortune  in  whaling  were 
poor.  We  went  into  Hobart  Town,  Tasmania,  at  last, 
with  no  other  excitement  than  having  fallen  in  with 
a frigate  loaded  with  two  hundred  women  passengers 
who  were  being  transported  from  England  to  become 
wives  of  convicts  at  a Tasmanian  penal  colony.  But  at 
Hobart  Town  there  was  entertainment  enough  for 
six  of  us,  for  we  were  persuaded  by  a rascal,  under 
promise  of  good  pay  in  the  cattle  drogers  (vessels)  to 
leave  the  Junior — his  sole  purpose  being  to  deliver 
us  to  the  police  as  deserters,  and  when  our  time  of 
servitude  had  expired  to  obtain  the  legal  fee  of  ten 
dollars  per  head  for  returning  us  to  our  vessel.  Our 
servitude  in  this  instance  lasted  for  thirty  days,  and 
the  sorrow  of  the  treadmill  and  rock  pile  was  made 
heavier  by  the  thought  that  we  had  deserted  so  good 
a ship  and  captain.  Fortunately,  he  remained  in  the 
harbour,  fitting  for  an  extended  cruise  for  the  south, 
and  we  went  back  gladly  enough  when  our  time  limit 
had  expired.  Then,  good  man  that  he  was,  he  gave 
us  a dollar  apiece  to  go  ashore  and  have  a little  real 
liberty.  It  all  turned  out  well  enough  in  the  end,  too, 

23 


24  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

for  by  a mere  accident  I fell  in  with  a kindly  old  gen- 
tleman who  proved  to  be  the  governor  of  the  island, 
and  to  him  I told  the  story  of  being  sold  into  cap- 
tivity, with  the  result  that  the  land  shark  was  cap- 
tured, compelled  to  return  the  sixty  dollars  to  Captain 
Tinkham,  and  sentenced  to  a year’s  imprisonment  at 
hard  labour. 

After  all,  we  were  loath  to  leave  Hobart  Town.  It 
was  the  first  white  man’s  port  we  had  visited  since 
leaving  New  Bedford  more  than  a year  before,  and 
it  was  a beautiful  place,  with  its  December  midsum- 
mer and  its  fine  harbour. 

But  Captain  Tinkham  had  heard  of  a new  species 
of  whale  with  which  the  Antarctic  Ocean  was  said  to 
be  fairly  alive,  and  when  all  was  ready  we  one  day 
hoisted  anchor,  dropped  down  the  river  Derwent,  and 
pointed  our  prow  south-poleward,  toward  a region 
rarely  visited,  and  imperfectly  known  from  the  de- 
scription of  such  explorers  as  Cook  (1773),  Wed- 
dell (1823),  Wilkes  (1840),  and  Ross  (1842).  We 
had  no  reliable  charts  of  those  waters,  knew  nothing 
of  the  character  of  the  navigation,  and  not  a man  on 
board,  fore  or  aft,  had  been  within  the  polar  circle. 
But  in  those  days  nothing  daunted  the  whaling  skip- 
per, who  steered  into  unknown  waters,  without  charts 
and  with  imperfect  means  of  navigation.  By  frequent 
use  of  the  lead  we  hoped  to  avoid  danger  from 
grounding,  but  we  had  no  idea  what  other  perils  we 
were  to  encounter. 

The  first  two  weeks  of  the  cruise  were  uneventful. 
The  wind  was  fair  and  we  ran  southward  rapidly. 
Then  presently  we  entered  a melancholy  region  where 


Into  the  Antarctic  25 

the  temperature  dropped  rapidly  and  there  were 
masses  of  floating  ice  and  dismal  fogs.  Many  days 
we  did  not  see  the  sun  at  all,  and  as  we  were  subject 
to  strange  drifts  and  unknown  currents  it  was  often 
impossible  to  tell  where  we  were  going.  As  for  whales, 
it  is  true  there  were  plenty,  but  they  were  of  a worth- 
less sort — no  right  whales,  only  a few  finbacks,  and 
schools  of  sulphur-bottoms,  which  whalemen  know 
well  enough  to  let  alone. 

Our  Captain  became  uneasy  and  did  at  last  put  two 
irons  into  one  of  the  last  named,  an  enormous  fellow 
that  was  lying  near  the  ship.  But  he  cost  us  six  hun- 
dred fathoms  of  line,  which  ran  out  like  lightning 
from  the  tubs,  the  smoke  rising  from  the  loggerhead. 

We  now  entered  a region  of  fearful  cold,  and  gales 
that  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession.  In  the 
meantime  we  were  drifting,  no  one  could  tell  whither, 
meeting  with  no  whales  suitable  to  our  purpose.  For 
weeks  we  were  tossed  about  this  dreary  waste,  striv- 
ing at  last  to  retrace  our  course  only  to  be  carried 
among  a multitude  of  icebergs,  enormous  in  size 
and  of  threatening  aspect.  It  was  a weird  world  that 
we  had  penetrated,  a part  of  the  globe  unpeopled  by 
any  human  beings  except  ourselves — thirty-three  iso- 
lated souls  in  quest  of  a whale  that  had  no  existence, 
in  waters  that  had  no  history.  It  seemed  more  than 
probable  that  our  little  ship  and  its  hardy  crew  would 
find  an  eternal  abiding  place  beneath  these  Antarctic 
waters.  We  youngsters  did  not  realise  all  the  danger, 
but  still  we  were  an  anxious  crew. 

The  weeks  passed  and  there  came  no  favouring 
wind.  We  began  discussing  the  probabilities  of  spend- 


26  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

ing  an  Antarctic  winter.  There  were  rations  enough, 
such  as  they  were,  but  there  was  no  way  to  place  the 
vessel  in  a comparative  degree  of  safety.  The  outlook 
was  gloomy  indeed,  when  suddenly  to  the  joy  of  all 
there  came  a shift  of  wind,  and  with  every  yard  of 
canvas  spread,  including  studding  sails,  and  with  the 
ship’s  head  pointed  northward,  we  began  our  return 
voyage. 

With  a lookout  for  open  water  at  the  masthead, 
from  dawn  to  dusk  the  ship  was  pressed  on  her  course, 
and  never  in  her  history  was  sail  carried  on  her  as  it 
was  on  that  memorable  trip.  We  had  a fortnight  of 
favourable  weather  and  had  left  the  ice  behind  when 
we  ran  into  a terrible  storm — almost  as  severe  as  our 
first  cyclone — but  finally  made  our  way  to  Lord 
Howe’s  Island,  off  the  Australian  coast,  where  we 
wooded,  watered,  and  laid  in  a stock  of  potatoes  and 
some  fine  young  pigs.  We  were  glad  to  be  back  from 
that  gloomy  sea  below  the  circle,  but  within  three  days 
we  were  again  under  way,  hunting  for  sperm  whales, 
and  within  a week  we  heard  from  another  whaler 
that  the  “ bowhead,”  a new  species  of  whale,  had 
been  discovered  in  the  Arctic  Ocean,  some  of  them 
storing  down  four  hundred  barrels  of  oil.  So  away 
we  went  for  the  other  end  of  the  world. 


VII 

Into  the  Arctic 

TWO  things  occurred  on  our  northward  voyage 
which  seem  worth  recording.  We  touched 
at  the  Island  of  Rotumah,  one  of  the  Fiji 
group,  and  the  liberty  crew  went  ashore  one  morning, 
each  with  several  yards  of  calico,  some  tobacco,  and 
a handful  of  odd  trinkets  for  trading.  Judge  of  our 
surprise  to  find  that  the  natives  would  not  barter  with 
us — a thing  unknown  before.  When  they  invited  us 
toward  a nearby  hill  we  went  with  some  hesitation, 
for  those  were  dangerous  islands  and  cannibalism  was 
an  institution  in  the  South  Sea.  We  went,  however, 
and  soon  discovered  a large  thatched  hut,  capable  of 
holding  four  or  five  hundred  people,  and  into  this 
many  persons  were  making  their  way.  We  entered 
with  them  and  were  escorted  to  the  front  and  given 
seats  on  a mat.  Then  a man  arose  and  said  something 
which  we  did  not  understand.  The  audience  also  rose 
and  began  to  sing.  The  words  were  unintelligible,  but 
the  tune  we  at  once  recognised  as  that  of  a familiar 
hymn.  Then  followed  what  was  evidently  a prayer, 
another  hymn,  and  an  address  or  sermon.  By  this 
time  we  remembered  that  it  was  the  Sabbath,  and 
saw  we  were  in  a house  of  worship.  After  the  service 
we  were  taken  to  the  chief’s  house  and  entertained, 
and  next  morning  when  the  port  watch  went  ashore 

27 


28  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

they  had  no  trouble  getting  rid  of  every  piece  of  calico 
and  pound  of  tobacco  they  had. 

We  wondered  how  this  island  had  become  Chris- 
tianised, for  there  were  no  missionaries.  Many  years 
after  in  London,  at  a meeting  of  missionaries,  I learned 
the  story.  It  seems  that  a long  time  before  our 
visit,  a little  boy  who  had  been  badly  treated  on 
a British  ship  ran  away  on  this  island,  taking  his 
Bible — always  the  mother’s  parting  gift  in  those  days 
— with  him.  He  fled  to  the  mountains,  and  after  the 
ship  had  left,  came  down  into  the  village,  and  was 
kindly  treated  by  the  chief  and  admitted  to  his  family. 
He  learned  the  language,  became  a preacher  of  the 
Gospel  and  converted  the  island  to  Christianity  be- 
fore a white  missionary  ever  landed  on  that  soil. 

At  another  island  of  the  Fiji  group  the  natives 
were  so  threatening  that  we  did  not  dare  to  land; 
but  at  Tahiti  occurred  the  second  incident  I have 
mentioned.  This  was  no  less  than  my  first  acquaint- 
ance with  a queen. 

I was  ashore  that  day,  and  passing  along  a princi- 
pal street  I saw  a native  woman  and  man  engaged  in 
a hand  to  hand  battle.  There  were  spectators,  but  they 
made  no  attempt  to  interfere.  Naturally  I rushed  in, 
and  pushing  the  woman  aside  attended  to  the  gentle- 
man, sailor  fashion.  Some  of  the  outsiders  then 
started  to  interrupt  the  amusement,  but  the  woman 
with  a word  stopped  them.  When  the  affair  was  over 
I was  astonished  to  learn  that  the  woman  was  Queen 
Pomare  and  the  man  her  consort.  I was  invited  to  the 
royal  palace,  and  for  once,  at  least,  enjoyed  the  con- 
fidence of  a real  queen. 


Into  the  Arctic  29 

We  headed  straight  northward  after  this,  arrived 
too  early  to  enter  the  passage  through  the  Fox  Is- 
lands and  went  up  into  the  Okhotsk  Sea,  where  we  fas- 
tened to  several  whales,  losing  all.  During  one  of  our 
lowerings  a large  bull  whale  knocked  our  boat  to 
pieces,  and  with  a coloured  boy,  Tom  Cole,  each  cling- 
ing to  an  oar,  I spent  four  hours  in  the  icy  water.  But 
a good  rubbing  down,  a glass  of  old  Medford  rum  and 
a nap  put  us  in  good  shape.  We  presently  abandoned 
that  foggy,  stormy  sea  and  shaped  our  course  for  the 
Arctic  Ocean.  We  passed  through  the  Fox  Islands 
and  on  through  Behring’s  Strait,  turned  around,  and 
came  back  to  St.  Lawrence  Island,  where  we  anchored. 
In  a very  few  days  we  had  nineteen  hundred  barrels 
of  oil  in  the  hold,  a single  whale  stowing  down  three 
hundred  and  forty  barrels  of  bowhead  oil,  and  thirty- 
four  hundred  pounds  of  the  finest  whalebone  in  the 
market.  We  killed  our  first  whale  on  the  5th  of  June, 
1849,  and  on  the  15th  of  July  the  last  one — taking,  in 
all,  eleven  whales.  The  effects  of  our  Jonah  had  dis- 
appeared at  last. 

Our  cargo  was  now  soon  completed  and  Captain 
Tinkham  headed  the  Junior  for  home,  after  an  ab- 
sence of  nearly  eighteen  months,  covering  more  ter- 
ritory and  more  remarkable  territory  in  that  time  than 
any  other  vessel  that  had  ever  sailed  the  sea,  having 
been  beyond  both  the  polar  circles  in  a single  voyage. 


VIII 

How  the  Old  St.  Mary’s  Made  History 

A FTER  a fairly  good  passage  southward  we  ar- 
ZJm  rived  at  Honolulu  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands, 
JL  JL  where  we  found  several  whalemen  and  two 
French  men-of-war.  These  two  French  men-of-war 
had  attracted  our  notice,  but  at  the  time  we  did  not 
understand  why  they  were  there  and  paid  no  par- 
ticular attention  to  them.  A day  or  two  after  we 
arrived,  the  St.  Mary’s,  American  sloop-of-war,  came 
in  from  China — the  same  old  St.  Mary’s  which  has 
since  become  a school  ship  and  lies  at  the  foot  of 
East  Twenty- fourth  Street,  New  York  City.  But  the 
vessel  was  in  active  service  then,  though  with  most 
of  her  crew  ill  of  an  epidemic  disease.  As  soon  as 
her  anchors  were  down  the  sick  men  were  landed 
under  the  guns  of  the  little  fort  on  the  beach,  and  I 
remember  very  well  how  we  blubber-hunters  cussed 
the  captain  of  the  man-of-war  for  putting  his  men  on 
the  sandy  beach  where  there  was  no  shelter,  while 
only  a few  rods  to  the  northward  were  beautiful  grass 
and  cocoanut  trees.  During  the  afternoon,  however,  a 
boat  from  the  St.  Mary’s  visited  each  whale  ship  and 
requested  the  captains  to  come  on  board.  The  confer- 
ence between  the  captain  of  the  man-of-war  and  the 
whalers  lasted  perhaps  an  hour,  when  each  returned 
to  his  ship  and  announced  the  fact  that  the  two  French 

30 


The  St.  Mary's  Made  History  31 

men-of-war  were  there  for  the  purpose  of  taking 
possession  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands  and  that  the  St. 
Mary’s  men  had  been  landed  under  the  fort  to  keep 
the  French  from  firing  upon  it.  We  were  asked  if  we 
would  volunteer  to  go  on  board  of  the  St.  Mary’s  and 
man  her  guns.  Every  man  Jack  volunteered.  We  were 
only  too  anxious  to  serve  our  country. 

The  men  from  the  different  ships  were  told  off  in 
divisions  and  went  on  board  and  were  taught  how  to 
handle  her  guns.  They  got  enough  men  from  the 
Junior  and  several  other  whalers  to  complete  the  full 
complement  of  the  St.  Mary’s  crew  in  case  she  went 
into  action.  For  forty-eight  hours,  night  and  day,  the 
whalers  were  drilling  on  the  man-of-war’s  decks. 
“ Old  Bill,”  who  had  been  in  the  British  Navy,  and 
myself,  who  had  served  a short  time  in  the  United 
States  Navy,  were  selected  among  the  gun  captains. 
The  Frenchman  was  evidently  very  much  surprised 
that  the  St.  Mary’s,  with  more  than  half  of  her  crew 
on  the  sick-list,  yet  had  her  decks  full  of  active  men, 
and  after  looking  the  situation  over  for  several  days 
concluded  that  there  was  wisdom  in  discretion.  They 
left  Honolulu,  and  never  again  has  France  attempted 
to  gain  possession  of  those  islands. 

This  closed  my  connection  with  the  Junior.  It  was 
over  three  years  before  I reached  home,  and  I had 
many  adventures  in  that  time,  as  we  shall  hear 
later  on. 


IX 

iThe  “ Isle  of  Sacrifice  ” 


THE  Junior  was  about  ready  to  leave  Hono- 
lulu, when  I met  one  day  on  shore  the  cap- 
tain of  the  bark  Swallow , a vessel  built  in 
Calcutta  and  owned  by  a lady  of  Hong-Kong.  Find- 
ing I was  a navigator,  the  captain  offered  me  a position 
as  mate,  and  though  I was  loath  to  leave  the  Junior, 
the  fact  that  she  was  homeward  bound,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  new  adventures,  induced  me  to  take  this  step. 
In  those  days  the  native  authorities  at  Honolulu  were 
very  strict  about  desertions  from  whale  ships,  whose 
trade  they  were  anxious  to  secure.  I was  taken  on 
board  the  Swallow  at  night  by  a native  boat,  for  which 
I was  to  pay  one  dollar.  When  we  were  halfway  to 
the  vessel  the  two  Kanakas  who  were  in  charge  de- 
manded double  fare,  and  I was  obliged  to  persuade 
them  with  the  boat’s  tiller  to  stand  by  their  contract. 
When  the  captain  of  the  Swallow  heard  my  story  he 
said,  “ Well,  we  must  put  you  away,  for  those  fel- 
lows will  report  us,  sure.” 

So,  early  the  next  morning  I was  taken  into  the 
lower  hold.  The  head  of  a large  cask  was  knocked  out, 
I stepped  in,  the  head  was  put  in  place,  and  I was  in 
the  dark,  with  only  the  bunghole  for  air.  It  was  after 
eight  on  the  following  morning  that  searchers  came 
on  board  to  find  me.  The  cabin  and  forecastle  and  the 


32 


The  “Isle  of  Sacrifice” 


< 


33 


deck  houses  were  ransacked.  Finally  they  came  into 
the  lower  hold  and  nosed  around  there,  poking  their 
iron  prods  into  the  dark  corners.  They  rolled  over  a 
number  of  casks  that  were  in  the  hold  and  finally  came 
to  the  one  I was  in.  I thought  then  that  my  time  had 
come,  and  braced  myself  firmly  for  the  ordeal.  They 
seized  the  cask  and  tipped  it  over  with  a bang,  and 
then  rolled  it  along  the  ballast.  Over  and  over  I went, 
heels  up  and  head  up,  until  I did  not  know  which  was 
which.  I braced  every  nerve  and  did  not  move.  For 
some  reason  they  did  not  test  the  bunghole  with 
their  iron  prod,  and  presently  I drew  a great  breath 
of  relief,  for  my  cask  was  still  and  I heard  them 
ascend  to  the  main  deck.  But  it  was  not  until  we 
were  under  way  that  I felt  safe,  and  it  was  nearly 
noon. before  I was  released  from  my  close  quarters. 

The  Swallow  was  bound  for  Sydney,  New  South 
Wales,  and  there  was  nothing  of  especial  interest  in 
our  passage.  I recall  her  now  chiefly  because  of  the 
manner  of  my  enlistment  and  the  fact  of  her  motley 
crew,  which  comprised  many  nationalities,  including 
one  hundred  and  thirty  Lascars.  Also  because  the 
owner,  Mrs.  Inness — a woman  well  known  through- 
out the  East  Indies  in  those  days  as  the  keeper  of  a 
large  store  in  Hong-Kong — was  herself  on  board. 
Furthermore,  I held  on  the  Swallow  my  first  official 
position — that  of  chief  mate. 

We  reached  Sydney  at  the  end  of  thirty  days,  and 
as  I had  shipped  “ by  the  run,”  I left  her  there  and 
joined  the  whale  ship  Joseph  Maxwell,  Captain 
Ezra  T.  Howland,  of  Fairhaven,  Massachusetts.  The 
Maxwell  was  about  the  size  of  the  Junior,  and  her 


34  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

skipper  a good  man.  I shipped  in  her  before  the  mast 
at  the  one  hundred  and  fiftieth  lay — that  is,  one  bar- 
rel of  oil  to  every  one  hundred  and  fifty  taken — and 
was  assigned  to  the  captain’s  boat.  Our  first  two 
weeks’  cruise  resulted  in  our  not  seeing  a whale,  and 
we  put  into  Lord  Howe’s  Island — my  second  visit  to 
that  spot — for  potatoes.  Somewhat  later  we  touched 
at  a small  island  in  the  Fiji  group  for  water  and  wood 
— the  latter  for  fuel.  I do  not  think  this  island  had  a 
name,  but  my  memory  has  recorded  it  as  the  “ Isle 
of  Sacrifice,”  and  my  adventure  there  was  of  a kind 
not  possible  anywhere  in  the  world  to-day. 

We  went  to  this  island  in  company  with  the  Clif- 
ford Wayne,  a vessel  I had  seen  once  before  at  Mon- 
gonui,  and  the  captain  of  each  ship  with  his  boat’s 
crew,  carrying  the  usual  bundles  of  calico,  tobacco, 
and  whale’s  teeth — the  latter  used  by  the  natives  for 
ornament — went  on  shore  to  trade.  After  landing, 
our  crew  went  in  one  direction  and  the  Wayne’s  crew 
in  another,  they  taking  the  weather  side  of  the  island, 
while  we  kept  to  the  leeward.  No  natives  were  in 
sight  at  the  time. 

From  their  position  on  the  weather  side  of  the  isl- 
and, the  Wayne’s  crew  discovered  a squall  approach- 
ing which  foretold  a heavy  storm,  and  returned  to  the 
boats.  In  coming  over  they  had  stove  a hole  in  theirs 
on  a coral  reef,  rendering  her  unseaworthy  in  rough 
water,  and  they  now  took  our  new  boat  and  pulled 
away  for  their  vessel,  leaving  us  to  find  their  worth- 
less one  on  the  shore  and  a terrible  surf  outside.  It 
was  as  dastardly  a trick  as  was  ever  played  by  a civi- 
lised crew  of  men. 


The  “Isle  of  Sacrifice”  35 

We  had  discovered  on  the  island  only  a few  old 
women,  who  did  not  seem  inclined  to  trade  with  us, 
and  we  now  cast  about  for  a place  to  camp  for  the 
night,  knowing  that  our  shipmates  could  not  reach 
us  through  the  breakers  and  sharp  reefs.  We  were  not 
especially  afraid,  for  we  were  armed,  but  we  were 
mad  clear  through  and  there  would  have  been  war  if 
we  could  have  reached  the  crew  of  the  Clifford 
Wayne.  As  night  came  on  we  hauled  up  the  dam- 
aged boat  and  turned  it  up  for  a shelter  from  the 
storm.  We  stood  guard  by  turns  and  put  in  rather  a 
nervous  night,  for  there  was  something  mysterious 
about  the  place,  and  a night  attack  from  savages  is 
a nasty  thing.  Once  a wild  pig  came  rooting  about, 
and  came  near  losing  his  life  before  we  identified  him. 

When  morning  came  it  was  still  blowing,  but  we 
made  up  our  minds  to  look  about  a little  farther  and 
see  what  would  happen.  Several  of  the  old  crones 
kept  watch  of  us  and  followed  us  about.  They  seemed 
kindly  disposed  and  offered  us  fruit,  but  would  not 
barter  the  wood,  yams,  pigs,  and  other  supplies  which 
we  wanted.  There  was  a small  village  of  these  women 
on  the  lee  side  of  the  island,  and  while  we  stood  talk- 
ing to  them  our  captain  discovered  a number  of 
canoes  from  an  adjoining  island  coming  up  under  the 
shelter  of  our  lee  shore.  This  sight  gave  us  a de- 
cided chill,  as  the  canoes  were  full  of  men  and  there 
was  no  reason  to  believe  they  had  come  over  in  this 
gale  for  a good  purpose.  However,  we  stood  our 
ground. 

The  newcomers  had  a conference  with  the  old 
women  on  arrival.  Some  of  them  seemed  to  be  chiefs, 


36  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

and  now  and  then  they  looked  and  pointed  at  us, 
which  did  not  make  us  feel  any  more  comfortable. 
Presently,  from  somewhere  in  the  grove  behind,  a 
group  of  young  native  girls  appeared.  They  were 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  years  of  age,  plump  and  hand- 
some for  their  race.  Their  dress  was  nothing  more 
than  a piece  of  tapa  about  their  loins,  and  their  hair 
was  filled  with  lime  to  indicate  that  they  were  vir- 
gins. We  now  noticed  among  the  trees  the  fires  of  a 
number  of  Samoa  ovens,  while  near  us  was  a sort  of 
audience  plat,  and  we  realised  that  some  ceremony 
was  about  to  occur — something  in  which  we  were 
likely  to  play  the  principal  part. 

Still,  we  decided  to  await  developments.  It  might 
be  death  to  run.  Certainly  it  would  be  fatal  to  attack 
them,  for  we  were  greatly  outnumbered.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  they  meant  us  no  harm.  But  I may  say  we 
were  a solemn-looking  party  when  we  were  led  to  the 
centre  of  a semicircle  and  seated  on  mats. 

A man  does  a lot  of  thinking  in  a very  few  seconds 
on  such  an  occasion.  My  chief  concern  was  as  to  how 
many  of  those  fellows  I could  get  away  with,  with  the 
means  at  hand — a sheath-knife  and  an  old  smooth- 
bore gun.  My  shipmates  were  similarly  armed.  There 
may  have  been  a hatchet  or  two  in  the  party.  We 
talked  little,  but  we  were  prepared  to  shed  blood  be- 
fore going  into  the  pot. 

The  whole  assemblage  was  now  seated,  and  several 
old  women  brought  up  the  girls,  who  faced  the  group 
calmly — it  seemed  to  us  with  little  interest.  There 
followed  some  talk  from  two  or  three  of  the  chiefs, 
at  the  end  of  which  three  of  the  girls  stepped  out  from 


The  “Isle  of  Sacrifice”  37 

the  others,  facing  us,  and  each  made  a brief  address 
— what  about,  I do  not  know.  But  we  began  to  realise 
now  what  was  going  to  happen.  We  were  taking  part 
in  a sacrificial  ceremony  and  these  were  to  be  the 
victims. 

There  was  no  delay.  Scarcely  had  the  last  speaker 
finished,  when  as  if  by  magic,  almost,  three  men  arose 
behind  the  girls  and,  quick  as  a flash,  with  a war  club 
delivered  each  one  of  them  a blow  in  the  back  of  the 
head.  As  they  fell  they  were  quickly  borne  away  into 
the  bushes.  We  did  not  see  what  was  enacted  there, 
but  the  group  about  us  sat  perfectly  still  for  what  was 
probably  only  a few  minutes,  but  seemed  a very  long 
time.  Then  there  was  a stir;  several  addresses  were 
made  and  we  were  served  with  cooked  fish,  yams, 
breadfruit,  bananas,  and  the  like.  Everybody  seemed  in 
a good  humour  and  our  spirits  rose ; but  there  lingered 
a question  as  to  what  the  final  dish  of  this  feasting 
might  prove.  We  were  soon  to  learn.  We  had  put  in 
about  two  hours  in  dining  and  ceremonies  since  the 
slaughter  of  the  girls,  when  several  men  appeared 
with  large  baskets.  These  were  set  before  the  chiefs, 
and  from  them  something  was  served  on  banana 
leaves — strips  or  squares  of  cooked  food,  about  two 
inches  long.  As  guests,  we  were  served  first,  and 
there  was  no  doubt  as  to  the  character  of  the  cooked 
flesh — the  final  observance  of  the  human  sacrifice. 

A great  deal  of  humour  has  been  made  by  the  comic 
papers  out  of  cannibalism,  but  you  may  be  assured  that 
at  the  time  when  we  sat  as  guests  at  the  feast  there 
was  no  humour  in  our  little  party.  It  was  less  horrible 
perhaps  than  it  would  seem  now,  only  because  we 


38  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

were  familiar  with  tales  of  cannibalism,  and  did  not 
set  much  value  on  the  lives  of  these  islanders.  We 
were  relieved,  too,  at  not  having  been  chosen  as  the 
victims,  though  there  still  lingered  a possibility  that 
with  appetites  awakened  for  appeasing  the  gods,  they 
might  decide  to  serve  us  for  supper. 

Nothing  of  the  kind  took  place.  We  were  accorded 
the  best  of  treatment,  and  they  finally  gave  us  to  un- 
derstand that  we  should  be  returning  to  our  ship.  We 
went  over  to  the  damaged  boat,  patched  it  up  as  best 
we  could,  and  as  the  gale  had  abated  set  out  for  our 
vessel,  which  we  reached  safely,  though  through  a 
tremendous  surf.  It  was  many  years  before  I was  able 
to  solve  the  mystery  of  why  we  should  have  been  im- 
mune among  that  cannibal  race.  Then  I met  an  old 
Wesleyan  missionary  who  told  me  that  we  had  landed 
on  an  island  set  apart  for  human  sacrifice — that  it  was 
peopled  exclusively  by  girls  and  their  attendants ; also 
that  we  were  perfectly  safe,  for  to  have  harmed  us 
there  would  have  brought  down,  as  they  believed,  the 
vengeance  of  the  gods  to  whom  their  sacrifices  were 
made. 


X 


More  Savages,  a Few  Minstrels,  and 
Many  Pirates 

WE  touched  at  another  South  Sea  island  on 
that  voyage,  Tongataboo,  where  I fell  in 
love  with  a dusky  little  daughter  of  a king, 
who  wanted  me  to  remain  on  the  island.  Here  was 
one  of  my  great  lost  possibilities,  for  I might  have 
succeeded  to  the  throne  and  become  father  to  a race 
of  monarchs.  But  I was  young  then  and  the  world 
seemed  waiting  to  be  conquered.  To  rule  over  a point 
of  land  in  the  South  Pacific  was  no  great  matter,  so 
I sailed  away  from  wifedom,  kingdom  and  the  cares 
of  state. 

It  was  during  the  cruise  of  the  Maxwell  that  I made 
my  first  entry  into  theatrical  life.  It  was  in  the  early 
days  of  George  Christy,  and  we  organised  a troupe 
of  minstrels  after  the  Christy  pattern,  with  such  suc- 
cess that  we  not  only  entertained  ourselves  but  the 
crews  of  other  vessels,  and  upon  our  return  to  Syd- 
ney were  engaged  to  perform  at  the  theatre;  the  town 
was  placarded,  and  for  a week  we  drew  crowded 
houses,  receiving  twenty  pounds  per  night  for  the 
company  of  fifteen — more  money  than  any  one  of  us 
had  ever  seen  before  to  call  his  own.  It  was  the  first 
minstrel  show  ever  given  in  Australia,  and  the  man- 
ager was  anxious  to  have  our  entire  band  desert.  But 

39 


4°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

our  captain  had  taken  precautions  to  have  the  proceeds 
of  the  week  turned  over  to  him  and  the  boys  couldn’t 
part  with  their  money.  So  they  stayed  with  the  Max- 
well, all  but  myself,  who  had  only  shipped  for  the 
cruise,  and  was  paid  my  share  when  I left  the  vessel. 
This  was  late  in  1849. 

I now  spent  several  weeks  in  Sydney,  seeing  much 
and  visiting  many  places  of  interest  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Eventually  I joined  the  ship  Oneco,  of  Dux- 
bury,  Massachusetts,  Captain  Drew  commanding. 
The  Oneco  had  come  from  Boston,  loaded  down  with 
gold  hunters  for  the  California  mines,  and  her  deck 
houses  had  been  fitted  up  for  passengers.  The  crew 
now  occupied  these  luxuriously  fitted  quarters,  ate  from 
real  plates  and  slept  in  rooms  instead  of  in  the  fore- 
castle of  common  sailor  life.  The  vessel  was  bound 
for  Manila.  I was  the  only  sailor  on  her  not  born  on 
Cape  Cod. 

We  ran  over  to  the  Ladrone  Islands  to  wood  and 
water  ship,  as  well  as  to  paint  the  vessel  inside  and  out 
— the  latter  to  save  dues  in  the  harbour  of  Manila.  The 
Ladrones  were  savage  islands  and  the  harbour  difficult 
to  enter,  but  a native  pilot  took  us  in  safely.  No 
shore  leave  was  allowed,  a wise  provision  of  our 
skipper,  as  we  found  later. 

A number  of  canoes  were  always  hanging  about  the 
vessel,  and  on  the  morning  we  were  to  sail  a large 
collection  of  them  appeared,  the  men  all  armed.  We 
made  up  our  minds  that  we  were  to  have  trouble  and 
hastily  shotted  our  guns,  loaded  our  pistols  and  sharp- 
ened our  cutlasses,  determined  to  meet  any  warlike 
visitors  halfway.  Then  we  began  to  heave  the  anchor, 


Savages,  Minstrels  and  Pirates  41 

but  by  the  time  it  was  fairly  clear  of  the  ground  the 
fellows  opened  fire  on  us  with  arrows  and  stones, 
which  we  returned  with  bullets,  killing  a great  num- 
ber— I believe  as  many  as  two  hundred.  They  came 
on  for  a time,  yelling,  and  firing  with  bows  and  slings, 
but  our  return  fire  was  more  than  they  could  stand, 
and  they  dropped  back  out  of  range,  though  still  fol- 
lowing. I believe  they  depended  on  the  native  pilot, 
again  on  board,  to  wreck  the  vessel ; but  the  third  mate 
and  a sailor  with  a pistol  took  him  up  on  the  topgal- 
lant-forecastle and  told  him  that  if  he  didn’t  take  the 
ship  safely  to  sea  he  would  be  shot,  forthwith.  He 
performed  this  service,  carried  us  safely  outside  and 
was  rewarded  with  a few  plugs  of  tobacco  and  pieces' 
of  calico.  Then  he  was  invited  to  take  a swim  for' 
shore,  which  he  did  with  the  greatest  possible  alacrity. 

A sailor’s  life  is  strenuous  at  all  times,  and  in  those 
days  it  was  almost  a continuous  casualty.  At  Manila 
I was  stabbed  for  another  man,  nursed  into  recovery, 
only  to  begin  my  acquaintance  with  Chinese  pirates 
on  our  voyage  to  Hong-Kong. 

We  had  loaded  the  Oneco  with  a small  cargo  of 
betel  nuts,  Manila  cheroots,  opium,  and  a few  thou- 
sand dollars  in  specie,  and  were  about  two  days  from 
our  destination  when  we  ran  into  a thick  fog,  where  we 
clewed  up  our  topgallant  sail,  hauled  up  the  main- 
sail, lowered  the  topsails  on  the  cap,  and  jogged  along, 
waiting  for  the  fog  to  lift. 

We  had  been  in  the  fog  but  two  or  three  hours 
when  a large  junk  suddenly  loomed  up  on  our  port 
bow.  Our  captain,  who  was  an  old  East  India  and 
China  trader,  took  one  look  at  her  and  said : “ My 


4 2 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

God!  Here’s  an  infernal  Chinese  pirate  junk!  Make 
all  sail,  quick ! ” 

We  did  not  need  that  order.  Almost  as  soon  as  I 
can  tell  it  we  had  the  sails  up  and  drawing,  but  not 
quick  enough  to  escape  the  junk,  which  bore  down 
under  full  head,  her  decks  crowded  with  men,  her 
grappling  irons  on  a long  pole,  ready  to  hook  into  our 
chains.  The  Oneco,  being  built  for  the  China  trade, 
was  armed.  We  carried  four  guns  in  each  broadside 
and  two  swivels  on  the  taffrail,  with  an  ample  supply 
of  boarding  pikes,  muskets,  pistols  and  cutlasses.  If 
the  pirate  succeeded  in  boarding  us  it  would  mean  a 
hand  to  hand  fight,  and  what  with  making  sail  and 
getting  ready  for  battle,  we  had  not  fired  a gun  before 
his  grappling  irons  were  in  our  chains.  But  at  this 
moment  we  let  go  a broadside  of  our  four  port  guns, 
which  must  have  disabled  the  men  in  charge  of  the 
grappling  line,  for  they  did  not  succeed  in  making 
it  fast  around  their  bits  until  they  had  drifted  about 
two  hundred  feet  astern.  We  attempted  to  cut  this 
line,  but  the  hook  was  attached  first  by  a long  chain 
which  we  could  not  sever,  and  the  angle  was  such  that 
we  could  not  hit  it  with  a shot. 

We  now  shifted  some  of  our  guns  from  the  star- 
board side,  and  our  third  mate,  Mr.  Nye,  a very  strong 
man,  assisted  by  a couple  of  sailors,  carried  one  of 
them  to  the  top  of  the  deck  house  where  there  was  a 
better  range,  while  some  of  our  men  went  up  into  the 
mizzentop  with  muskets  and  opened  fire  from  there. 
The  pirates  in  their  difficulties  did  not  at  first  get  their 
guns  into  action,  but  kept  up  a constant  fire  with  their 
muskets,  though  with  very  poor  aim.  We  also  man- 


Savages,  Minstrels  and  Pirates  43 

ceuvred  our  ship  in  a way  that  made  it  hard  for  them 
to  get  the  range.  At  last,  however,  they  opened  with 
what  was  apparently  a twelve-pound  pivot-gun,  doing 
little  damage.  Their  chief  effort  was  to  haul  up  along- 
side so  that  they  could  board  us,  but  we  kept  up  such 
a hot  fire  that  they  failed  to  succeed  in  this  plan.  We 
could  rake  their  decks  with  our  guns,  while  our  mus- 
kets kept  up  a regular  fusillade. 

At  the  end  of  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  an 
accidental  shot  from  somewhere  cut  the  grappling 
line  and  we  were  free.  But  our  captain’s  blood  was  up 
now,  and  we  headed  for  her  and  gave  her  a broadside 
that  cut  away  her  foremast  and  made  havoc  among 
her  men.  We  would  have  finished  the  job  then  and 
there,  but  our  ammunition  was  low,  and  we  were 
anxious  to  report  to  Hong-Kong.  On  arrival  there 
we  immediately  notified  a little  English  sloop-of-war, 
which  sailed  at  once  and  next  day  fell  in  with  the 
disabled  junk,  took  all  on  board  prisoners,  sunk  her 
and  returned  to  anchorage.  The  captain  of  the  sloop- 
of-war  reported  that  we  had  killed  fully  half  the 
pirate  crew.  The  remainder,  forty-seven  in  number, 
were  tried  for  piracy  and  promptly  hanged.  We  were 
congratulated  as  heroes  in  Hong-Kong. 


XI 

I Join  the  Anglo- Chinese  Navy 

MY  encounter  with  the  Chinese  pirates  gave 
me  a taste  for  such  adventure,  and  as  the 
Oneco  was  now  loading  coolies  for  Chili, 
I left  her  to  enlist  on  a flotilla  that  made  pirate  hunt- 
ing its  daily  occupation.  This  Navy  was  composed 
of  a number  of  open  boats  maintained  largely  by  the 
British  Government,  seconded  by  the  Chinese  authori- 
ties. The  boats  were  about  forty  feet  long,  carried 
each  a small  howitzer  and  a crew  of  about  thirty-five 
men — mainly  Europeans.  The  pay  was  good,  and 
there  was  prospective  prize  money,  though,  as  usual, 
I was  attracted  chiefly  by  the  desire  for  adventure.  I 
enlisted  for  three  months  and  was  assigned  to  boat 
Number  23,  commanded  by  a young  man,  formerly 
a petty  officer  in  the  British  Navy,  one  of  the  keenest 
and  bravest  Englishmen  I ever  met.  Another  of  his 
countrymen  was  second  in  command,  while  twenty 
Europeans,  twelve  Chinamen  and  myself  made  up 
the  crew.  We  pulled  twelve  oars,  and  when  under 
canvas  carried  two  large  lugsails  and  could  spread  a 
square  sail.  Our  shelter  for  the  night  was  a heavy 
tarpaulin  with  side  cloths.  By  day  a light  canvas  awn- 
ing protected  us  from  the  burning  sun.  Our  provisions 
consisted  of  salt  beef  and  pork,  hard  tack  and  rice, 
plenty  of  fish  and  birds  and  such  vegetables  as  we 
could  procure.  Our  cook  was  a Chinaman  with  a 

44 


Join  the  Navy  45 

crude  cooking  apparatus,  but  he  gave  us  two  good 
meals  a day.  We  slept  by  watches  on  the  bottom 
boards  of  the  boat  and  on  the  thwarts. 

The  flotilla  was  made  up  into  divisions,  usually  six 
boats  in  each.  These  cruised  in  company  and  at  stated 
intervals  the  entire  fleet  would  assemble  for  orders 
and  drill.  We  had  pistol  practice  and  sword  exercises, 
for  the  fighting  was  generally  a hand  to  hand  matter, 
and  skill  and  strength  of  arm  were  of  first  impor- 
tance. Real  fighting  was  never  at  long  distance.  Our 
howitzer  was  used  only  in  pursuit,  and  just  before  the 
boarding  party  sprang  on  board  the  pirate  junk. 

I should  mention  that  a number  of  small  junks 
were  attached  to  our  service  to  act  as  scout  and  picket- 
boats.  These  often  furnished  us  the  location  of  a 
pirate  junk  unloading  or  recruiting  in  some  creek, 
but  they  never  took  part  in  any  of  the  fights.  These 
fights  were  frequent  and  bloody.  Sometimes  they  re- 
sulted in  the  extinction  of  an  entire  pirate  junk’s  crew, 
though  generally  we  tried  to  secure  as  many  prisoners 
as  possible,  for  the  reason  that  we  received  a higher 
premium  for  live  captures  that  we  did  for  pig-tails  of 
dead  pirates.  Such  trophies — prisoners  and  pig-tails 
— were  turned  over  to  our  flagboats,  at  convenient 
periods  sent  to  Hong-Kong,  and  in  due  time  our  prize 
money  came  back  with  our  monthly  pay. 

My  boat,  Number  23,  belonged  to  the  “ lucky  di- 
vision,” and  in  the  six  months  which  I remained  with 
her  we  engaged  eleven  junks,  which  we  destroyed, 
and  five  with  which  we  had  running  fights  but  lost 
them,  owing  chiefly  to  fogs.  We  usually  attacked  a 
junk  with  six  boats,  their  crews  numbering  from  one 


46  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

hundred  and  eighty  to  two  hundred  men,  so  that  we 
generally  outnumbered  our  opponents.  Still,  not  all 
could  board  a junk  at  one  time.  Five  or  six  men  had 
to  be  left  in  each  boat  as  keepers — to  pass  up  arms  and 
ammunition  as  needed,  and  to  prevent  the  pirates  from 
destroying  our  craft  with  “ stink-pots.”  Aboard  the 
junk  our  pistols  were  first  brought  into  play,  and 
with  cutlasses  we  finished  the  work.  Such  battles  were 
short,  but  very  fierce,  for  the  Chinaman  is  a good 
fighter  and  has  no  fear  of  death.  Our  own  Chinamen 
were  always  first  over  a junk’s  side,  and  our  loss  of 
them  was  an  average  of  six  Celestials  to  every  Euro- 
pean. I could  fill  a volume  with  the  experiences  of 
that  half  year,  but  the  story  of  our  most  important 
battle  is  a fair  example  of  all : 

I had  been  promoted  to  the  command  of  boat  Num- 
ber 23 — the  young  Englishman  having  been  severely 
wounded  and  sent  to  Hong-Kong,  while  the  second 
in  rank  had  resigned.  Three  boats  of  our  division  one 
morning  came  unexpectedly  upon  a junk  moored  at 
the  river  bank,  almost  hidden  by  trees  and  foliage. 
The  first  intimation  we  received  was  the  firing  of 
three  ship’s  cannons,  loaded  with  bullets,  spikes  and 
what  not,  and  for  an  instant  the  water  about  us  was 
white  with  foam.  Not  a man  in  my  boat  was  hit,  but 
the  third  boat  in  line  had  two  men  killed  and  four 
wounded.  There  was  no  chance  of  retreat.  All  we 
could  do  was  to  dash  ahead  and  get  under  the  range 
of  her  guns,  and  carry  her  by  boarding.  Before  she 
could  reload  we  were  alongside,  had  grappled  her, 
and  our  Chinamen  were  scaling  her  like  cats. 

The  odds  were  terribly  against  us,  as  the  pirates  had 


Join  the  Navy  47 

been  prepared,  while  we  had  been  surprised  and  had 
lost  valuable  men.  All  told  there  were  about  sixty  of 
us,  besides  the  caretakers,  to  do  the  work.  We  lost 
several  men  boarding  the  pirate,  but  we  were  des- 
perate and  went  in  with  our  cutlasses  at  once,  keep- 
ing our  firearms  in  reserve.  I have  been  in  many  hand 
to  hand  fights,  both  in  that  service  and  in  the  Argen- 
tine Navy,  but  I never  saw  worse  slaughter  than  I 
witnessed  that  morning  on  the  pirate  junk.  The 
pirates  were  like  devils,  but  we  were  all  good  swords- 
men, and  we  cut  them  down  almost  as  fast  as  we 
could  get  at  them.  In  the  midst  of  it  I suddenly  found 
myself  cornered  by  three  of  the  enemy,  who  were  giv- 
ing me  the  tussle  of  my  life  with  their  crooked  swords. 
I could  do  nothing  but  parry,  and  I felt  that  I could 
not  keep  this  up  very  long.  In  fact,  I was  on  the  point 
of  exhaustion,  when  a young  English  boy  ran  up  be- 
hind one  of  my  opponents,  and  putting  a pistol  to 
his  head  scattered  his  brains  over  the  deck.  The  sud- 
denness of  it  startled  the  others,  and  an  instant  later 
I had  cleft  one  of  the  pirates  across  the  jaw  and  borne 
down  upon  the  other  with  the  point — thus,  with  Bob’s 
help,  finishing  the  three  of  them. 

We  now  had  about  thirty  of  them  in  a corner,  and 
these  we  opened  fire  upon  with  our  pistols  and  settled 
the  fate  of  the  day.  When  the  end  came,  there  were 
ninety  dead  and  wounded  pirates  lying  about  the 
decks,  and  some  twenty  had  jumped  overboard,  several 
of  whom  had  been  shot  in  the  water  by  our  boat- 
keepers.  Our  loss  had  been  comparatively  small,  but 
greater  than  usual  because  of  our  being  heavily  out- 
numbered. 


48  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

The  junk  proved  a valuable  prize.  In  her  was  about 
sixty  thousand  dollars  in  specie  which  she  had  cap- 
tured, while  her  leader  was  a chief  to  whom  all  pirates 
in  those  waters  paid  tribute.  In  fact,  she  was  the 
heaviest  armed  and  most  dreaded  craft  of  her  kind, 
and  we  had  taken  her  with  the  smallest  number  of 
boats  that  had  captured  a pirate  junk  since  the  flo- 
tilla was  organised. 

It  having  so  happened  that  my  boat  had  led  the 
attack  in  this  fray,  I was  summoned  to  Hong-Kong 
to  testify  against  the  pirates,  also  in  the  prize  court, 
and  to  make  a detailed  statement  of  the  whole  affair. 
This  was  pleasant  diversion  enough,  though  I became 
tired  of  telling  and  retelling  the  story,  and  was  anx- 
ious to  get  back  to  the  flotilla.  When  I did  return 
it  was  as  division  commander,  and  I think  none  of 
my  shipmates  begrudged  me  this  new  rank.  I chose 
Number  23  as  my  flagboat,  and  I wish  I had  room  to 
tell  of  some  of  our  battles  and  narrow  escapes  that  fol- 
lowed, before  our  work  became  dull;  when,  with  a 
good  accumulation  of  prize  money,  I resigned  my 
position  and  returned  to  Hong-Kong  for  a period  of 
recreation  before  seeking  adventure  in  the  open  sea, 
which  from  earliest  childhood  had  always  held  for  me 
the  greatest  fascination. 

During  my  many  encounters  with  the  pirates, 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  I never  received  a wound 
that  required  surgical  treatment,  and  I maintained 
perfect  health  though  exposed  to  many  diseases.  I 
recall  that  half  year  of  almost  constant  fighting,  when 
death  was  always  about  me,  as  one  of  the  pleasantest 
periods  of  my  life.  It  was  hard,  serious  work,  but  it 


Join  the  Navy  49 

was  a work  endorsed  by  all  Christian  nations.  It  was 
necessary  to  wipe  those  “ yellow  devils  ” off  the  face 
of  the  waters,  and  I have  always  felt  that  the  humble 
part  I took  in  the  work  would  not  be  recorded  against 
me  in  the  “ log  book  kept  aloft.” 


/ 


I Buy  a Chinese  Family  and  Join  a 
Pirate  Brig 

DKING  about  in  Hong- Kong  for  a congenial 


household  wherein  to  make  my  home  for 


a few  weeks,  I fell  in  with  a most  friendly 
Chinaman — an  elderly  person  whose  family  consisted 
of  himself,  his  wife,  several  children,  two  sampans, 
and  certain  wooden  gods  of  various  sizes  and  de- 
grees of  power.  I acquired  the  whole  for  fifteen  dol- 
lars and  was  supposed  to  own  everything,  including 
the  gods,  for  a period  of  three  months,  with  board 
in  the  bargain.  The  food  was  good,  too,  well  sea- 
soned and  palatable,  though  I did  not  always  know 
just  what  I was  eating.  I gained  flesh  and  I really 
saw  something  of  China  during  those  three  months. 
The  old  man  found  his  chief  occupation  in  being  head 
of  the  household  and  smoking  opium,  while  his  wife 
did  washing  for  the  vessels  in  the  harbour,  and  ran  the 
two  sampans.  She  also  acted  as  my  foster  mother  and 
sometimes  took  me  in  a sampan  to  collect  or  deliver 
laundry,  and  I found  myself  endorsing  the  establish- 
ment among  the  ships  of  my  acquaintance.  Often  my 
“ foster  sisters  ” took  me  in  tow  and  we  visited  the 
neighbours  or  some  theatre,  or  took  delightful  ram- 
bles into  the  country,  climbing  the  terraced  hillsides 
to  get  a view  of  the  splendid  harbour.  I really  en- 


Join  a Pirate  Brig  51 

joyed  being  “ Jack  in  clover  ” for  the  time,  and  ac- 
quired a great  fondness  for  the  Chinese  life  as  I saw 
it.  As  a sailor  I had  let  my  hair  grow  long,  and  I 
now  braided  into  it  a pigtail,  put  on  the  national  cos- 
tume, and  with  tan  and  a little  tint  applied  by  my 
merry  “ relations  ” I passed  well  enough  for  a native 
to  have  a good  deal  of  sport  and  to  perpetrate  a num- 
ber of  jokes,  one  of  which  came  near  landing  me  in 
a Chinese  prison,  if  not  on  the  execution  block. 

I think  this  discouraged  me  a little  in  any  inclina- 
tion I may  have  had  to  make  a change  of  race,  for  I 
found  myself  longing  to  be  afloat  again,  an  easy  mat- 
ter in  1851,  when  everybody  was  rushing  to  Cali- 
fornia and  sailors  were  scarce  and  well  paid.  A little 
brig  lying  in  the  harbour  attracted  my  attention.  She 
was  a tidy  craft  of  about  three  hundred  tons,  full- 
rigged,  with  lofty  raking  spars — in  fact,  my  ideal  of 
a vessel.  One  day  I went  aboard  and  asked  the  cap- 
tain if  he  wanted  to  ship  any  men.  When  I mentioned 
having  been  in  the  Arctics  he  plied  me  with  questions 
in  regard  to  bartering  furs  and  walrus  tusks,  and  con- 
cerning the  ice.  He  said  he  was  in  general  trade,  in- 
cluding opium,  beche-de-mer,  sandalwood,  sharks’ 
fins,  pearl  shells,  furs — in  fact  was  ready  to  do  any- 
thing for  gain,  a statement  which  I did  not  fully  grasp 
at  the  time.  At  all  events,  after  a series  of  questions 
he  shipped  me  as  supercargo,  also  ice-pilot  in  event  of 
our  going  into  the  Arctic  regions.  The  next  after- 
noon found  me,  bag  and  baggage,  aboard  the  brig 
Swallow,  my  second  vessel  of  that  name. 

I now  took  a look  over  the  vessel,  and  while  all 
trading  craft  in  those  days  were  armed,  it  seemed  to 


5 2 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

me  that  she  carried  an  unusual  number  of  guns  for 
her  size.  She  appeared  in  fact  a regular  little  fighter 
— trim  as  a yacht,  neat  as  a man-o’-war.  The  crew 
consisted  of  about  forty  men  of  motley  nationality, 
but  by  no  means  of  desperate  appearance,  while  the 
captain,  a Baltimore  man,  was  a keen,  sharp  fellow — 
a fine  sailor  when  he  knew  his  water,  though  of  rather 
forbidding  aspect.  The  first  mate  was  a mild,  but  de- 
termined-looking man ; the  second  mate  was  a bit  of  a 
bully,  and  these,  with  the  steward  and  myself,  made 
up  the  after  guard,  living  in  the  cabin.  It  was  to  be  a 
part  of  my  duty  to  inventory  and  care  for  the  cargo, 
which  consisted  of  tobacco,  pipes,  small  looking- 
glasses,  beads,  gaudy  clothing,  calico,  rum,  and  odds 
and  ends  such  as  all  vessels  in  those  days  carried  for 
native  barter. 

After  settling  my  belongings,  I went  ashore  and 
bade  good-bye  to  my  foster  family,  embracing  most 
of  them,  and  salaaming  to  the  gods  of  high  and  low 
degree.  Then  the  brig  was  ready  to  weigh  anchor  and 
I sailed  away. 

As  soon  as  we  were  well  off  shore  a man  was  sent 
to  each  masthead  with  orders  to  report  everything  in 
sight.  This  seemed  a little  curious,  as  we  were  not 
looking  for  whales.  I was  also  impressed  with  the 
fact  that  we  were  heading  toward  Manila,  when  I had 
understood  that  we  were  bound  for  the  Northward 
Islands.  Still  it  was  not  my  affair,  and  questions  were 
useless.  During  the  second  day  gun  crews  were 
selected,  and  new  recruits  carefully  drilled  with  those 
who  had  already  made  voyages  in  the  Swallow.  Then 
the  guns  were  carefully  loaded  and  shotted  and  the 


Join  a Pirate  Brig  53 

small  arms  kept  ready  for  action.  Drilling  went  on 
daily  and  the  little  brig  seemed  as  much  of  a war 
machine  as  if  she  had  been  flying  a cruiser’s  pennant, 
with  all  hands  in  uniform. 

On  the  fourth  day  I noticed  that  our  Captain 
seemed  restless  and  frequently  hailed  the  masthead 
lookouts  to  keep  a sharp  watch,  and  several  times  went 
aloft  himself.  That  night  we  shortened  sail  and  made 
very  little  headway.  I had  no  watch  to  stand  and 
turned  in  at  ten,  to  be  awakened  about  four  by  hear- 
ing the  watch  making  all  sail.  I went  on  deck  to  find 
every  stitch  of  canvas  set,  the  masthead  lookouts  dou- 
bled, the  Captain  pacing  to  and  fro  on  the  starboard 
side  of  the  deck.  I felt  that  something  was  going  to 
happen  before  the  day  ended — what,  I could  not  tell. 

With  dawn,  the  Captain  himself  went  'up  on  the 
main  topsail-yard,  which  made  five  pairs  of  eyes  scan- 
ning the  horizon.  He  had  been  there  hardly  an  hour 
when  one  of  the  men  on  the  foreroyal-yard  sang  out 
“ Sail,  ho ! ” and  instantly  the  Captain  answered, 
“ Where  away  ? ” 

“ Two  points  on  the  starboard  bow,”  was  the  re- 
ply, and  immediately  the  brig’s  course  was  shifted  two 
points,  all  hands  were  called,  studding  sails  were  set 
in  a jiffy  and  with  a good  breeze  and  a smooth  sea 
the  little  brig  went  reeling  off  ten  knots  to  leeward. 

I had  a very  clear  idea  now  of  the  character  of  our 
vessel.  She  was  a trader,  right  enough,  but,  like  many 
another  vessel  in  those  days,  she  could  be  a pirate 
as  well,  when  the  prize  was  large  enough  and  the 
chance  of  punishment  small.  I hardly  know  what 
were  my  feelings  when  I realised  that  I,  who  but  a 


54  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

short  time  before  had  become  distinguished  as  an 
exterminator  of  pirates,  had  now  myself  become  one 
of  a pirate  crew.  My  chief  reflection  was  that  there 
was  nothing  I could  do  except  look  on  and  take  no 
part  in  the  action.  I therefore  stood  still  and  watched 
the  approaching  vessel.  She  was  presently  made  out 
to  be  a junk,  evidently  bound  from  Manila  to  Hong- 
Kong,  and  when  our  Captain  was  satisfied  that  she 
was  the  one  he  wanted,  all  hands  were  ordered  to 
quarters  and  I knew  we  should  smell  gunpowder  be- 
fore long. 

The  Captain  came  down  from  aloft  to  direct  our 
course  and  to  see  that  the  guns  were  properly  cleared 
and  manned.  We  were  not  to  have  things  all  our  own 
way,  it  seemed,  for  the  junk  did  not  seek  to  escape,  but 
prepared  for  combat.  We  came  down  on  her  with 
a rush  and  as  we  passed  under  her  stern  gave  her  a 
broadside,  which  was  responded  to  by  two  guns,  evi- 
dently of  larger  calibre  than  ours,  but  poorly  managed. 
We  now  luffed  under  her  lee  and  gave  her  a charge 
of  grape,  and  when  we  came  up  and  crossed  her  bow 
we  gave  her  another  heavy  broadside.  Great  care  was 
taken  not  to  injure  her  hull  near  the  water  line — the 
fire  of  our  gunners  being  directed  especially  at  the 
upper  works  in  order  to  cripple,  without  sinking,  the 
vessel. 

The  poor  Chinamen  were  able  to  fire  their  guns 
but  three  times,  but  kept  up  a lively  fusillade  of  small 
arms  for  as  much  as  an  hour,  during  which  the 
Swallow  sailed  around  the  junk,  raking  her  fore  and 
aft.  Then  two  boats  with  armed  crews  were  sent  to 
board  her,  and  miet  with  slight  resistance.  I shall  al- 


Join  a Pirate  Brig  55 

ways  be  glad  that  I was  not  compelled  to  make  one 
of  that  party. 

It  was  not  long  after  our  men  had  gone  aboard 
that  they  began  lowering  boxes  of  specie,  packages 
of  opium,  and  cases  of  cigars  into  our  boats.  Three 
hours  later  the  junk  was  set  on  fire  and  within  an  hour 
her  magazine  exploded,  and  not  a trace  of  her  was  to 
be  seen.  Not  a single  soul  had  lived  to  tell  the  tale. 

It  was  after  the  goods  had  been  stored  below  that 
the  Captain  came  to  me  and  said : “ I suppose  this  is 
new  work  to  you,  but  you  will  see  no  more  of  it.  I 
had  an  old  score  to  settle  with  that  junk.  Now  it’s 
paid.  Say  nothing  to  anybody  and  forget  all  about  it.” 
I obeyed  the  Captain  so  far  as  not  to  mention  the 
affair,  but  to  forget  it  was  another  matter.  The 
crew,  however,  seemed  to  regard  it  as  a mere  incident. 
It  was  scarcely  referred  to  in  the  cabin,  and  the  con- 
versation of  the  men  forward  was  chiefly  of  the  pros- 
pects of  trade  among  the  Pacific  islands.  Well,  well, 
the  old  days  were  not  as  these ! 


XIII 

I Winter  in  the  Arctics 


TER  its  one  piratical  venture  the  Swallow 


cruised  about  the  Pacific,  calling  on  my  old 


friends  the  Fijians,  where  we  did  consider- 
able trading  and  had  one  of  the  encounters  with  sav- 
ages so  common  to  those  days,  when  the  natives 
thought  nothing  of  losing  a hundred  or  two  men  in 
an  effort  to  capture  a vessel.  Sometimes  they  suc- 
ceeded, too,  though  I never  happened  to  be  on  one  of 
those  unfortunate  ships. 

It  was  not  till  the  latter  part  of  May,  1851,  that  we 
at  last  entered  Bering  Sea  and  established  our  head- 
quarters and  began  trading  with  the  Esquimaux, 
some  of  whom  I had  met  two  years  before.  These 
were  profuse  in  their  greetings,  and  I informed  them 
that  we  wanted  furs  and  ivory  brought  to  the  ships 
without  delay,  as  we  meant  to  leave  before  there  was 
any  danger  of  being  frozen  in.  We  showed  them  our 
merchandise,  and  natives  were  sent  hither  and  thither 
to  spread  the  news,  for  no  such  goods  had  been  of- 
fered them  before.  When  the  trade  slackened  we  went 
across  to  the  mainland  and  continued  trading,  re- 
turning at  last  to  our  St.  Lawrence  anchorage.  Few 
whalers  were  about  that  year,  and  these  were  avoided. 
We  feared  the  Russian  cruisers  might  hear  of  our 
visit  and  turn  us  out,  as  we  were  really  trespassing 


Winter  in  the  Arctics  57 

on  their  preserves.  In  August  I tried  to  get  the  Cap- 
tain to  work  southward  as  I feared  we  might  get 
nipped  by  the  ice  and  be  obliged  to  remain  all  winter 
in  that  desolate  place.  But  some  furs  had  been  prom- 
ised from  inland  and  he  would  not  listen.  When  he 
did,  it  was  too  late.  We  were  struck  by  a succession 
of  heavy  easterly  gales,  and  September  found  our  way 
barred — our  vessel  doomed  to  an  Arctic  winter. 

When  it  became  a frozen  fact  that  we  were  shut 
in,  our  Captain,  from  the  brave  man  and  reckless 
pirate  he  had  shown  himself  at  sea,  sank  almost  to 
the  level  of  an  arrant  coward.  He  was  facing  a dan- 
ger he  had  never  met. 

No  appeal  seemed  to  arouse  him  from  his  depres- 
sion, and  at  length  he  summoned  me  and  declared  that 
as  I was  the  only  one  of  them  who  had  had  Arctic 
experience,  and  had  been  engaged  as  ice-pilot,  it  was 
for  me  to  do  what  I could  to  save  the  brig.  I assured 
him  I would  do  what  was  possible,  if  all  hands  would 
aid  me,  and  he  promptly  called  everyone  aft  and  told 
them  to  follow  my  advice  and  obey  my  orders.  I was 
twenty-four  years  old  at  the  time,  and  I felt  that  I 
was  shouldering  a big  responsibility. 

The  first  thing  we  did  was  to  place  the  vessel  in  a 
position  best  to  resist  the  action  of  the  ice;  the  next, 
to  send  down  the  spars  so  that  she  would  be  less  top- 
heavy,  and  the  third,  to  land  most  of  our  provisions, 
so  that  in  event  of  the  brig  being  crushed  we  should 
have  an  abundance  of  food.  I persuaded  some  of  the 
natives  to  make  their  home  on  the  vessel,  so  that  we 
might  have  the  benefit  of  their  advice,  also  their  as- 
sistance, if  needed.  I made  no  haste  with  our  prepara- 


58  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

tions,  for  I wanted  to  keep  the  men  employed  as  long 
as  possible,  and  what  with  setting  the  ship  to  rights, 
gathering  wood  from  an  old  wrecked  whaler,  hunting 
for  polar  bears  and  fishing,  I kept  the  crew  busy  and 
cheerful. 

After  we  were  snugly  housed  for  the  winter,  it  was 
necessary  to  keep  the  men  interested  and  amused,  and 
I organised  a glee  club  of  that  pirate  crew  and  we 
\ sang  all  sorts  of  music,  including  hymns,  which  I 
hope  did  their  souls  some  good  in  the  last  account. 
Certainly  they  needed  grace. 

We  also  had  theatricals,  and  I remember  some  of 
the  performers  were  better  in  their  parts  than  actors 
I have  seen  ashore.  The  men  forward  enjoyed  them- 
selves remarkably  well,  I believe,  considering  that 
they  were  ice-bound  buccaneers,  but  the  Captain  re- 
mained a pitiful  object  and  no  amount  of  encourage- 
ment would  cheer  him.  He  attended  all  our  entertain- 
ments, but  he  was  dazed  and  exercised  no  authority 
whatever.  Like  the  vessel,  he  was  “ frozen  up  ” and 
we  feared  he  might  lose  his  reason,  especially  after 
the  sun  disappeared  and  the  fierce  Arctic  night  came 
down  upon  us. 

Dark,  cold  months  are  long  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
it  would  take  volumes  to  record  the  story  of  that  win- 
ter. It  went  by  at  last,  and  when  daylight  returned 
we  began  to  bestir  ourselves  for  the  time  of  release. 
The  preparations  for  home-sailing  awakened  a slight 
interest  in  the  Captain,  who  paid  some  attention  to 
what  was  going  on,  though  he  never  issued  an  order, 
leaving  all  in  my  charge. 

It  was  late  in  May,  1852,  when  a gale  started  the 


Winter  in  the  Arctics  59 

ice  out  of  the  harbour,  or  rather  roadstead,  and  gave 
us  the  first  hope  that  our  imprisonment  was  at  an  end. 
Following  a large  ice  field  we  made  our  first  move 
toward  freedom  and  the  south.  I was  standing  aft, 
giving  orders,  as  the  red-rusted  anchor  came  to  the 
bow,  and  at  sight  of  it  the  boys  broke  into  a wild 
cheer.  Something  in  it  all  aroused  the  Captain,  who 
suddenly  shouted,  “ Give  her  the  topgallant  sails,  boys, 
and  let’s  get  out  of  this  hell  as  soon  as  we  can ! ” 
From  that  moment  he  was  in  command  of  his  ves- 
sel, and  I was  simply  ice-pilot  and  supercargo  as 
before.  All  his  old  bravery  and  character  returned, 
and  I could  never  understand  his  condition  during 
our  imprisonment  in  the  ice.  Coming  out,  we  had  a 
narrow  escape  from  a Russian  cruiser,  but  with  our 
superior  speed  left  her  far  behind.  We  now  headed 
straight  for  the  Sandwich  Islands,  where  I left  the 
brig  Swallow,  against  the  wishes  of  the  captain  and 
crew,  I may  say,  and  our  long  association  made  me 
feel  not  unkindly  toward  them,  pirates  though  they 
were.  Still  I had  seen  enough  of  adventure  in  such  a 
vessel.  I received  several  hundred  dollars  as  my  wages 
and  share  in  the  furs  and  walrus  tusks.  The  prize 
from  the  captured  junk  I did  not  share. 


XIV 


By  a Long  Passage  I Reach  My 
Native  Land 

AT  Honolulu  I shipped  in  a little  English  schooner, 
JL\  the  Twilight,  and  made  a direct  passage  back 
JL  JL  to  Hong-Kong,  stopping  nowhere.  I now  be- 
gan to  have  yearnings  for  home.  I had  seen  most  of 
the  world,  had  had  adventure  of  almost  every  sort,  and 
no  word  from  my  kindred  for  four  years.  I was  glad 
to  get  to  Hong-Kong  as  a starting  point.  The  Wil- 
liam Henry  Harbeck,  Captain  Shinn,  was  in  port,  and, 
owing  to  the  scarcity  of  sailors,  offered  me  fifty  dol- 
lars a month  in  gold  to  ship  with  him — the  highest 
price  I ever  was  paid  for  sailing  before  the  mast.  We 
sailed  for  Liverpool  some  weeks  later  and  arrived 
without  accident,  though  I had  a narrow  escape 
crossing  the  Indian  Ocean,  when  a squall  struck  us 
and  I was  knocked  from  the  topsail-yard  into  the  belly 
of  a studding  sail,  where  I out  with  my  knife  and 
cut  two  slits  in  the  canvas,  and  putting  my  arms 
through  clung  there,  only  to  be  reprimanded  by  the 
Captain  upon  reaching  the  deck  for  damaging  the 
sail.  We  also  came  near  piling  up  on  the  end  of  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope  on  that  voyage,  for  Captain 
Shinn  was  an  erratic  sailor  and  kept  too  close  in-shore. 
About  two  o’clock  of  the  morning  we  rounded,  a man 
on  the  foretopsail-yard  sang  out,  “ White  water 

60 


Reach  My  Native  Land  61 

ahead!”  and  with  the  helm  jammed  down  hard  the 
ship  came  up  on  the  port  tack,  everything  slatting  in 
the  wind — the  white  breakers  all  along  our  lee  beam. 
Five  minutes  more  would  have  seen  us  all  in  eternity. 

At  Liverpool  I met  an  old  mate  named  Canfield, 
who  had  abandoned  the  sea  to  become  the  American 
Samson,  or  strong  man,  at  the  old  Polytechnic  Thea- 
tre. I went  with  him  every  night  to  the  show,  assisted 
the  property  man  and  finally  entered  the  pantomime, 
taking  the  part  of  a fisherman  with  a stuffed  fish,  this 
being  my  second  dramatic  experience.  Eventually  I 
surrendered  the  stuffed  fish  to  play  the  part  of  a clown 
and  burlesque  Samson’s  performance.  From  Liver- 
pool we  went  over  to  Dublin,  where  we  played  a suc- 
cessful two  weeks,  then  returned  to  Liverpool,  where 
I closed  my  histrionic  career. 

The  ship  Henry  Clay — the  famous  packet  ship  of 
that  time — came  into  port  in  command  of  Captain 
Francis  M.  French,  with  whom  I had  made  my  first 
ocean  voyage,  in  the  Cornelia,  and  I resolved  to  re- 
turn with  him  to  my  native  land.  She  was  crowded 
with  emigrants  and  so  far  as  I could  see  there  had 
been  little  improvement  in  the  years  since  my  first 
experience.  We  had  a great  many  deaths,  as  before, 
during  the  voyage,  but  we  arrived  in  New  York  Har- 
bour in  due  time.  From  Quarantine  we  came  directly 
to  the  dock — there  being  no  Castle  Garden  or  Ellis 
Island  in  those  days — and  I set  foot  on  American 
soil  once  more  after  an  absence  of  five  years  and  eight 
months. 

I knew  nothing  as  to  the  situation  of  my  people — • 
didn’t  even  know  where  they  lived.  We  had  landed 


62  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

at  Pier  9,  North  River,  and  about  ten  in  the  morning 
I came  up  Rector  Street  to  Broadway,  where  I stooped 
and  put  my  hand  on  the  ground  to  be  sure,  after  all 
my  years  of  absence  and  adventure,  that  I was  really 
on  my  native  soil.  I never  pass  there  now  that  I do 
not  pay  tribute  to  that  spot. 

New  York  was  a small  city  then.  The  lower  part  of 
Broadway  was  still  residential  and  every  house  in 
Bowling  Green  a mansion.  But  there  had  been 
changes  in  my  absence,  and  I strolled  up  Broadway 
staring  at  the  signs.  When  I reached  the  corner  of 
Ann  Street,  I remembered  that  Bangs  and  Mervin, 
the  booksellers,  were  located  there,  and  would  know 
where  my  parents  lived.  So  I climbed  the  stairs  and 
after  some  difficulty  was  permitted  to  see  Mr.  Lemuel 
Bangs.  When  he  learned  who  I was  he  looked  at  me 
and  said:  “ Well,  my  boy,  where  did  you  come  from? 
Your  poor  parents’  hearts  are  almost  broken.  They 
have  about  given  you  up  as  dead.” 

I told  him  briefly  of  my  travels  and  he  informed 
me  that  my  grandfather  lived  in  Yorkville,  now  East 
Eighty-sixth  Street,  and  my  father  in  Newburgh.  I 
said,  “ Mr.  Bangs,  you  will  have  to  let  me  have  some 
money  to  get  to  grandfather’s.”  He  replied,  “ I sup- 
pose you  are  like  other  sailors.  You  have  earned  your 
money  hard  and  thrown  it  away  easy.”  That  rather 
nettled  me  and  I answered,  “ I have  not  been  paid  off 
yet  from  the  Henry  Clay;  but  if  you  are  afraid  to 
trust  me  with  a dollar,  will  you  please  cash  this  draft,” 
and  I pulled  out  a bill  of  exchange  for  eight  hundred 
dollars  and  laid  it  before  him. 

He  gave  me  a silver  dollar  then,  and  told  me  to 


Reach  My  Native  Land  63 

go  to  “ Mat  ” Gooderson’s  in  Park  Row,  where  the 
Yorkville  stage  started.  The  stage  had  just  arrived 
when  I reached  Mat’s  and  I mounted  the  driver’s  box. 
When  we  got  to  Yorkville  he  pointed  out  the  house 
where  my  grandfather  lived,  and  when  I climbed  the 
steps  I saw  his  name  on  the  door.  An  Irish  servant 
girl  answered  my  knock  and  after  some  delay  my 
aunt  appeared,  but  did  not  recognise  me.  I explained 
that  I had  just  returned  from  sea  and  had  a message 
for  Mr.  Sillick  (my  grandfather)  ; whereupon  she  at 
once  asked  me  if  I had  met  her  nephew  anywhere 
during  my  travels.  I replied  that  I had — that  he 
would  be  home  soon;  also  that  I had  seen  him  in 
Liverpool,  ready  to  take  the  first  ship.  My  grand- 
mother, meantime,  had  been  listening  over  the  banis- 
ters in  the  hall,  and  now  came  down.  The  moment 
she  set  eyes  on  me,  she  recognised  me,  for  my  face 
was  the  counterpart  of  my  mother’s. 

I was  tired  that  night  and  went  to  bed  early.  Mean- 
time, without  telling  me,  they  had  telegraphed  my 
father,  who  merely  told  my  mother  that  he  had  busi- 
ness in  the  city  and  came  down  to  Yorkville,  arriving 
about  midnight.  In  the  morning  I awoke  early  to  find 
a stranger  in  my  bed,  but  when  I lit  a match  to  see 
who  it  was,  who  should  it  be  but  my  own  father. 

We  spent  that  morning  in  cashing  my  draft  and 
putting  me  into  some  respectable  garments  for  life 
ashore.  In  the  afternoon  we  went  by  rail  to  Fishkill 
and  crossed  over  the  river  to  Newburgh,  it  being  then 
about  dusk.  My  mother  seeing  me  in  the  dim  hall 
with  my  father  mistook  me  for  a visitor  and  greeted 
me  as  “ Brother  ” Van  Name  of  Albany,  to  whom  I 


64  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

bore  considerable  resemblance.  Then  she  hurried  away 
to  get  the  supper,  and  I did  not  see  her  again  until  we 
sat  down  to  the  table.  Even  then  she  did  not  notice 
me,  until  grace  was  said,  when  turning  suddenly  she 
looked  at  me  steadily  for  an  instant  and  then  jumped 
up  and  threw  her  arms  about  my  neck — and  you  will 
have  to  guess  the  rest,  for  I can’t  tell  it. 


XV 


I Enter  the  Argentine  Navy  and  Win 
a Command 

BUT  the  shore  had  little  charm  for  me.  Even  my 
native  land  and  my  home  could  not  hold  me 
when,  about  six  weeks  after  my  return,  I had 
an  opportunity  to  make  a voyage  to  Havana,  a part 
of  the  world  I had  not  seen.  I made  several  of  these 
short  trips,  during  which  nothing  of  special  impor- 
tance occurred,  beyond  the  fact  that  I was  wounded 
by  some  Spanish  soldiers  who  mistook  me  for  a 
drunken  sailor  and  were  trying  to  compel  me  to  board 
the  wrong  vessel.  I was  with  the  bark  Parodi  at  this 
time,  originally  built  for  a slaver — a very  swift  vessel. 
We  made  a passage  from  New  York  to  Havana  in 
four  days  and  eighteen  hours. 

But  now  came  one  of  the  important  episodes  of 
my  life.  It  was  late  in  1853,  I think,  when  I became 
second  mate  of  the  ship  Margaret  Elisa,  Captain 
Adams,  of  New  York.  She  was  a frigate-built  vessel 
— with  her  sister,  the  Parana,  pierced  for  guns,  though 
the  portholes  were  sheathed  over — the  intention  of 
the  owners  being  to  sell  these  ships  to  the  Argentine 
Republic,  then  in  the  midst  of  one  of  her  many 
revolutions. 

We  arrived  at  Buenos  Ayres  laden  with  a valuable 
cargo,  largely  consisting  of  flour.  The  revolutionists 
controlled  the  harbour  and  the  blockade  was  on.  We 

65 


66  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

were  not  allowed  to  land  any  merchandise,  so  we  came 
to  anchor  and  the  captain  went  ashore,  leaving  the 
first  mate,  a curious  old  Englishman,  and  myself,  in 
charge  of  the  vessel.  The  fleets  were  fighting  in  our 
immediate  vicinity  and  now  and  then  the  bullets 
dropped  around  us,  occasionally  hitting  the  Margaret 
Elisa,  though  without  damage.  Still,  it  made  me  rest- 
less, and  I was  anxious  to  get  into  the  midst  of  things. 

One  Saturday  I heard  that  a challenge  had  passed 
between  the  Government  Navy  and  the  Revolution- 
ists, and  that  a set  engagement  was  going  to  take 
place  across  the  La  Plata  River;  whereupon  I asked 
Commodore  Coe,  an  American  who  commanded  the 
Revolutionary  Navy,  if  he  would  let  me  go  in  the 
flagship,  El  Correo,  a little  English-built  steamer — 
the  only  steamer  in  the  fleet,  except  an  American 
wooden  vessel  named  the  Eutaw.  The  balance  of  the 
fleet  was  composed  of  brigs  and  schooners,  armed 
with  all  sorts  of  cannons,  carronades — anything  that 
would  fire  a shot — for  the  most  part  gathered  from 
merchant  ships.  It  was  a nondescript  navy  and  that 
of  the  Government  was  of  a similar  sort. 

The  Commodore  said  that  I could  go,  but  that  it 
was  a risky  business,  for  the  fighting  would  be  hard 
and  at  close  range.  When  I told  him  my  Anglo- 
Chinese  experience  he  made  no  further  objection.  We 
sailed  the  same  afternoon  and  on  Sunday  met  the 
enemy. 

I was  now  to  witness  one  of  the  hardest  fought  bat- 
tles I have  ever  seen.  Notwithstanding  the  fleets  were 
of  so  poor  a sort,  there  was  as  much  fighting  spirit  as 
was  ever  displayed  in  a naval  combat.  It  was  a hand 


Win  a Command  67 

to  hand  conflict  on  all  sides,  and  in  one  hour  after 
the  flagship  went  into  the  fight  nine  out  of  eleven 
of  her  officers  were  killed  or  lying  mortally  wounded 
on  the  deck.  When  the  first  officer  was  stricken  down 
I volunteered  to  take  his  place  and  did  the  best  I could 
to  fill  it.  When  the  fight  was  over  we  had  captured 
seven  prizes,  though  with  a heavy  loss  of  life  on  both 
sides.  At  the  close  of  the  engagement  Commodore 
Coe  said  to  me: 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  we  want  you  for  the  Argentine  Navy. 
If  you  will  remain  with  me,  you  can  take  your  choice 
of  any  one  of  the  prizes  captured  to-day.” 

This  offer  was  tempting.  I accepted,  and  picked  out 
a beautiful  schooner  named  the  Veinte-cinco  de  Mayo 
(the  Twenty-fifth  of  May)  in  honour  of  some  anni- 
versary. I immediately  went  on  board  my  vessel  with 
the  rank  of  Commander,  having  been  appointed  by 
Commodore  Coe  on  the  quarter-deck  of  the  flagship. 

I found  my  vessel  a veritable  slaughterhouse. 
Nearly  half  of  her  crew  were  dead.  The  remainder 
were  entirely  willing  to  enlist  under  our  flag — such 
being  the  customary  spirit  in  those  countries,  I com- 
pleted my  crew  from  vessels  that  had  suffered  less 
and  set  about  putting  my  command  in  order.  Her 
mainboom  was  shot  away  and  her  rigging  badly  cut 
up,  but  her  masts  had  been  untouched  by  our  fire,  and 
it  did  not  take  me  long  to  put  all  in  shipshape,  after 
which  we  sailed  over  to  our  anchorage  off  Buenos 
Ayres. 

I felt  very  proud  of  my  commission  and  command. 
The  Veinte-cinco  de  Mayo  was  the  fastest  sailer  in 
the  fleet  and  I was  put  at  the  head  of  the  blockading 


68  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

line,  just  off  the  enemy’s  fort  at  the  mouth  of  the 
little  river  La  Boca.  Every  day  there  was  excitement, 
with  boats  trying  to  run  the  blockade,  but  our  first 
incident  of  real  importance  happened  when  one  day  a 
deserter  from  the  shore  came  off  and  told  me  that  in 
the  evening  there  would  be  a fandango  not  far  from 
the  fort,  during  which  the  latter  would  be  as  good  as 
deserted  for  the  entertainment. 

Relying  on  the  man’s  statement,  about  eight  o’clock 
in  the  evening  I took  my  gig  and  six  men  and  went 
ashore  to  see  what  could  be  done.  We  crept  up  the 
beach,  and,  sure  enough,  found  the  fort  entirely  de- 
serted with  the  exception  of  one  man  doing  sentry 
duty  and  another  who  was  ill.  We  captured  the  sen- 
tinel without  difficulty,  tied  and  gagged  him,  and 
immediately  went  to  work  to  destroy  all  the  small 
arms  in  the  place  by  breaking  them  across  the  breeches 
of  the  guns.  The  latter  we  spiked,  and  threw  them 
off  their  carriages  over  the  parapet.  We  now  broke 
open  the  magazine  door  and  getting  some  kegs  of 
powder  laid  a train  to  it,  after  which  we  removed 
the  sick  man  and  the  sentinel  to  a place  of  safety,  set 
fire  to  our  train  and  made  for  the  boat,  pulling  rapidly 
away  to  escape  the  shock  of  the  exploding  magazine. 

We  never  found  why  that  train  failed  in  its  mis- 
sion. Perhaps  there  was  a break  somewhere.  Pos- 
sibly the  soldier,  or  even  the  sick  man,  in  some  man- 
ner managed  to  destroy  its  continuity.  If  so,  it  was 
a brave  deed. 

We  reached  the  ship  all  right,  but  when  the  soldiers 
returned  from  the  fandango  there  was  the  deuce  to 
pay  on  shore.  I never  learned  the  particulars,  but  a 


Win  a Command  69 

few  days  afterward  Commodore  Coe  sent  for  me,  and 
when  I went  on  board  the  flagship  he  said: 

“Mr.  Osbon,  what  do  you  consider  your  value?” 

“ Well,  Commodore,”  I said,  “ I don’t  exactly  know 
what  you  mean,  but  I hold  myself  at  a pretty  good 
price.” 

“ Well,  now,”  he  said,  “ how  much  do  you  think 
you’re  worth  ? ” 

I replied,  “ I don’t  know.”  I couldn’t  see  what  he 
was  driving  at,  and  was  a little  annoyed  that  he  should 
ask  such  a question.  He  picked  up  a Buenos  Ayres 
paper  and  showed  me  an  advertisement  offering  a re- 
ward of  six  thousand  dollars  for  my  head.  Then  I un- 
derstood, and  we  figured  my  value  by  the  pound. 

A few  days  later  we  went  into  action  again — the 
enemy  having  refitted  and  sent  in  another  challenge. 
It  seems  a sort  of  play  war  when  I think  of  it  now, 
but  the  fighting  was  real  enough.  The  engagement 
was  at  close  quarters  again,  and  my  opponent  was  a 
Frenchman  who  had  sworn  to  blow  up  his  ship  rather 
than  surrender.  I may  say  here  that  the  vessels  on 
both  sides  were  officered  and  manned  by  men  of  every 
nation — sailors  of  fortune,  inspired  by  the  spirit  of 
adventure. 

I made  a special  effort  to  get  grappling  irons 
aboard  the  Frenchman,  and  succeeded.  Then  after  a 
dash  we  reached  his  decks.  The  fellow  had  two  small 
guns  placed  aft,  commanding  the  deck,  and  as  we 
reached  it  they  were  fired,  killing  between  fifty  and 
sixty  of  my  men  at  the  one  discharge,  just  missing  me 
by  a hair.  I now  ran  aft  to  have  it  out  with  the 
Frenchman,  who  had  a rapier  and  was  ready  for  me. 


7°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

We  had  it  hot  for  a few  minutes  and  I received  a 
severe  wound  in  the  hand,  the  scar  of  which  I still 
carry.  But  I was  a good  swordsman,  too,  and  pres- 
ently he  rushed  toward  the  taffrail  and  stooping  down 
picked  up  a string.  The  next  I knew  I was  over  the 
bow  of  the  brig  in  the  water.  He  had  fired  the 
magazine. 

Knowing  his  threat  I must  instinctively  have  run 
forward  when  he  stooped,  and  was  thrown  overboard 
by  the  concussion.  No  damage  was  done  forward, 
and  the  vessel  did  not  sink.  The  fighting  ceased  with 
the  explosion,  and  a sailor  threw  me  a coil  of  rope 
and  I climbed  back  on  board.  The  magazine  was 
small,  I think,  for  the  deck  aft  had  only  been 
lifted  and  shattered,  and  there  was  a hole  in  the  ves- 
sel’s side  just  above  the  water  line.  The  Frenchman 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Standing  just  above  the  dis- 
charge, he  must  have  been  blown  overboard  and 
drowned. 

I ordered  the  vessel  cast  loose  and  put  on  the  other 
tack,  which  brought  the  hole  well  above  the  water 
line,  and  in  this  position  we  presently  repaired  the 
damage  by  nailing  some  canvas  and  boards  over  it, 
so  there  was  no  danger  of  our  sinking.  My  hand  and 
face  were  covered  with  blood  from  my  wound,  but  I 
put  some  tobacco  on  the  gash,  bound  it  tightly,  and  in 
the  excitement  forgot  it  altogether. 

The  engagement  once  more  came  to  an  end  with 
victory  on  our  side.  We  captured  four  prizes  that 
day — some  our  enemy’s  best  vessels.  In  the  two  fights 
the  Government  Navy  had  been  much  reduced  in 
power  as  well  as  numerical  strength. 


XVI 


An  International  Complication  and  the 
End  of  Revolution 

WE  came  back  to  Buenos  Ayres  and  anchored, 
and  I took  up  my  old  position  on  the 
blockade.  At  this  time  there  was  a strong 
pressure  being  brought  to  bear  by  foreign  representa- 
tives to  have  the  blockade  raised  for  a few  hours,  as 
a large  number  of  vessels  were  waiting  at  Monte- 
video to  come  up  with  their  cargoes.  The  United 
States  was  represented  by  the  sloop-of-war  James- 
town, since  transferred  to  the  Marine  Hospital  Serv- 
ice. The  rights  of  England  were  maintained  by  the 
auxiliary  steam  sloop-of-war  Centaur. 

After  a good  deal  of  parleying  it  was  agreed  that 
the  blockade  should  be  raised  on  a given  day,  from 
sunrise  until  noon.  Ample  time  was  allowed  to  send 
word  to  Montevideo,  and  a number  of  vessels  came 
up  and  availed  themselves  of  the  privilege.  Among 
them  was  an  English  bark,  laden  with  flour.  She  had 
started  late  and  when  she  was  within  three  or  four 
miles  of  the  blockade  line  the  wind  died  and  she  came 
up,  drifting  slowly.  As  the  time  was  nearly  up,  I 
sent  an  officer  from  my  ship  to  inform  the  English 
captain  that  the  blockade  would  be  on  at  noon,  sharp, 
and  to  impress  upon  him  that  no  vessel  would  be  al- 
lowed to  cross  the  imaginary  line  after  eight  bells 

7i 


7 2 A.  Sailor  of  Fortune 

struck.  Also,  that  if  he  attempted  to  cross  we  would 
take  him  as  a prize. 

The  Englishman  saw  his  country’s  flag  flying  on 
the  Centaur  and  was  inclined  to  turn  up  his  nose  at 
our  “ mosquito  fleet.”  He  came  drifting  up,  and 
when  eight  bells  struck,  true  to  promise,  I sent  two 
armed  boats’  crews  aboard  his  vessel,  declared  her  a 
prize,  anchored  her,  and,  hauling  down  the  English 
flat,  hoisted  that  of  the  Argentine  Revolution. 

Well,  I’ve  seen  a good  many  Englishmen  get  wild, 
but  that  was  the  wildest  Britisher  it  has  ever  been  my 
fortune  to  meet.  He  immediately  went  on  board  the 
Centaur,  stated  his  case — a case  apparent  to  every- 
body in  the  harbour — and  before  long  the  Centaur  sent 
a boat  to  me,  ordering  me  to  withdraw  my  prize  crew 
from  the  bark,  under  penalty  of  being  sunk.  I said 
to  the  bearer  of  this  message:  “ You  go  back  and  tell 
your  commanding  officer  that  my  prize  crew  will  re- 
main on  board,  and  that  I’ll  take  mighty  good  care 
he  doesn’t  sink  me.” 

As  soon  as  the  officer  left  my  ship’s  side  I gave 
orders  to  get  under  way.  At  this  time  the  Centaur 
was  cleaning  her  boilers  and  refitting  her  wheels  (for 
she  was  a paddle  steamer),  and,  so  far  as  propelling 
power  was  concerned,  would  have  to  rely  on  her  can- 
vas. Knowing  this,  I commenced  sailing  back  and 
forth  across  her  stern,  my  guns  shotted  and  ready 
to  sweep  her  decks  in  case  she  fired  on  us  with  mus- 
ketry. She  couldn’t  bring  her  big  guns  to  bear,  for  I 
kept  between  the  angles  of  danger. 

The  impudence  of  our  saucy  little  Veinte-cinco  de 
Mayo  cruising  back  and  forth  infuriated  the  captain 


An  International  Complication  73 

of  the  Centaur.  He  came  aft  on  the  quarter-deck  and 
demanded  what  we  meant  by  taking  up  that  position, 
declaring  that  he  would  blow  us  out  of  the  water  if 
we  remained  there. 

“ Don’t  shoot,  Captain/’  I said  pleasantly.  “ We 
won’t  harm  you  as  long  as  you  don’t  shoot  at  us.  If 
you  do,  we’ll  have  to  sink  you.” 

Then  he  used  some  language  which  I cannot  re- 
peat here,  and  when  he  was  through  I went  in  a little 
closer  and  said  to  him: 

“ Captain,  you  were  a party  to  an  agreement  that 
the  blockade  should  go  on  at  twelve  o’clock,  to-day, 
and  that  no  vessel  should  cross  the  line  after  eight 
bells  struck.  I warned  the  captain  of  that  bark  not 
to  attempt  to  cross  after  that  time,  and  told  him  I 
would  put  a prize  crew  aboard  of  him  if  he  did.  What 
I have  done,  any  country  will  uphold  me  in  doing.” 
“ And  what  are  you  doing  over  here  ? ” he  de- 
manded. 

“Well,  Captain,”  I replied,  “you  sent  word  you 
were  going  to  sink  us  and  I came  over  to  see  about 
it.  I find  your  boilers  unfit  for  duty  and  there  is  no 
wind  for  a heavy  vessel  like  yours.  You  can’t  bring 
your  big  guns  to  bear,  and  if  you  fire  on  us  with 
muskets  I’ll  rake  your  decks  fore  and  aft,  unship  your 
rudder  and  tear  your  paddle-boxes  out  of  you.  You 
are  at  our  mercy  and  I’m  going  to  keep  you  so.” 

In  the  meantime.  Commodore  Coe  had  seen  what 
was  going  on  and  now  came  over  in  his  gig.  He  or- 
dered me  back  to  my  anchorage  and  went  on  board 
the  Centaur , but  he  had  not  been  there  long  before  I 
was  signalled  to  come  aboard  also.  I obeyed  and  stated 


74  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

my  case  in  full,  with  the  result  that  all  hands  agreed 
I was  in  the  right.  The  captain  of  the  Centaur  was 
begging  of  Commodore  Coe  to  let  the  bark  in,  when  I 
suggested  that  it  might  be  compromised  by  allowing 
the  bark  to  contribute  from  her  cargo  of  flour  twenty 
barrels  to  the  flagship  and  ten  to  each  other  ship  in 
the  squadron.  This  opened  a way  out  and  the  cap- 
tain of  the  bark  was  sent  for.  He  agreed  to  the  bar- 
gain and  our  boats  went  alongside  for  the  supply  of 
flour  so  badly  needed,  and  so  costly  at  that  time. 

It  was  a few  days  later  that  Commodore  Coe  sent 
for  me  to  come  on  board  the  flagship.  He  said,  “ Com- 
mander, I want  your  resignation.  Return  to  the 
V einte-cinco  de  Mayo , get  your  belongings  and  re- 
sume your  duties  on  your  own  vessel  ” — meaning  the 
Margaret  Elisa,  still  lying  in  blockade.  “ At  ten  to- 
night I will  be  alongside  the  Margaret  Elisa  and  will 
explain  to  you.” 

I returned  to  the  Veinte-cinco  de  Mayo,  called  the 
men  aft,  told  them  that  I had  seen  enough  of  the 
Argentine  service  and  was  going  back  to  my  ship.  I 
thanked  them  for  their  loyalty  to  me,  bade  them  good- 
bye, and  resumed  my  duties  on  the  Margaret  Elisa, 
where  they  were  somewhat  surprised  to  see  me,  but 
seemed  glad  to  welcome  me  back.  The  old  English 
mate  said,  “ Well,  I never  expected  to  see  you  again. 
How  in  the  world  anybody  can  like  to  fight,  I don’t 
know.” 

About  nine  all  hands  turned  in  except  myself,  and 
at  ten,  according  to  promise,  Commodore  Coe  came 
alongside  and  was  presently  on  board. 

“ Mr.  Osbon,”  he  said,  “ you  may  be  surprised  to 


An  International  Complication  75 

know  why  I demanded  your  resignation.  I will  tell 
you.  It  is  because  to-night,  like  you,  I am  no  longer 
of  the  Argentine  Navy.  I have  here  in  the  boat  a 
quarter  of  a million  dollars  in  gold.  I have  tempor- 
arily deposited  the  same  amount  on  board  the  James- 
town. I am  going  to  England — you  are  going  to  New 
York.  I desire  that  you  will  deliver  this  money  to  my 
wife,  on  arrival.” 

Commodore  Coe  had  sold  out  the  Argentine  Navy 
for  half  a million  dollars,  one-half  of  which  went  with 
him  to  London,  while  the  other  half  I brought  to  New 
York  and  delivered  to  his  wife.  I got  nothing  but 
glory.  The  revolution  was  over.  Peace  was  estab- 
lished and  the  two  navies  became  as  one.  Commodore 
Coe  was  a professional  revolutionist.  I was  simply  a 
sailor  of  fortune,  fighting  for  the  joy  of  adventure. 


XVII 


I Command  the  Louisa  Kilham,  and  Find 
Adventure  on  the  Coast  of  Ireland 

RETURNING  to  New  York,  I joined  the  bark 
Louisa  Kilham,  and  in  her  made  several  voy- 
ages  to  Kingston,  Jamaica,  thence  to  London, 
eventually  becoming  her  captain.  On  one  trip,  after 
discharging  cargo  we  went  to  Newcastle,  England,  to 
load  gas  coal  for  New  York,  and  the  agent,  anxious 
to  secure  a larger  commission,  against  my  protest 
loaded  the  vessel  far  too  deep.  We  went  “ north 
about  ” — that  is,  up  the  North  Sea,  past  the  Orkney 
Islands — to  shorten  the  passage,  it  being  the  latter 
part  of  November  when  we  sailed. 

On  entering  the  Atlantic  Ocean  we  were  met  by  a 
succession  of  fierce  gales  and  it  was  impossible  to 
work  the  ship  to  the  westward.  For  days  we  battled 
with  the  storm.  Finally  the  ship  sprung  a leak,  our 
sail  were  blown  away  and  we  had  a most  terrible  time. 
The  water  gained  on  us  very  fast,  and  the  men’s  hands 
were  covered  with  running  sores  from  their  constant 
work  at  the  pumps.  It  seemed  impossible  to  save  the 
ship. 

Finally  the  crew  refused  duty.  It  was  just  about 
noon  and  I was  attempting  to  get  our  position  from 
the  sun  as  it  appeared  from  time  to  time  from  beneath 

76 


Adventure  on  Coast  of  Ireland  7? 

the  flying  clouds.  The  mate  came  over  to  where  I 
was  and  said, 

“ Captain  Osbon,  the  men  are  utterly  discouraged 
and  refuse  to  pump  any  longer.” 

I asked  him  to  tell  them  to  wait  until  I had  worked 
up  the  ship’s  position.  When  that  was  done,  I would 
ask  them  to  come  aft  in  a body.  My  intention  was  to 
plead  with  them  once  more  to  stick  to  the  pumps.  If 
they  failed  in  this,  our  hope  was  gone,  and  I would 
request  them  to  kneel  in  a last  prayer. 

On  sending  for  them,  the  crew  came  into  the  cabin, 
and  I told  them  that  where  there  was  life  there  was 
hope,  and  begged  them  to  go  to  the  pumps  again. 
They  gave  me  a sorrowful  but  decided  “ No.”  Then 
I had  an  inspiration. 

“ Well,  boys,”  I said,  “ let’s  ask  God  to  help  us.” 
And  taking  up  a Bible  that  always  lay  on  the  cabin 
table,  I added,  “ I will  open  at  random,  and  read  the 
first  verse  that  my  eye  falls  upon.” 

Sailors  in  those  days  had  great  respect  for  the  Bible. 
The  men  stood  in  perfect  silence  as  I picked  up  the 
volume.  I opened  it  entirely  by  chance,  and  my  eye 
fell  on  the  tenth  verse  of  the  forty-first  chapter  of 
Isaiah.  I read  aloud  as  follows: 

“ Fear  thou  not ; for  I am  with  thee ; be  not  dismayed ; 
for  I am  thy  God;  I will  strengthen  thee;  yea,  I will 
uphold  thee  with  the  right  hand  of  my  righteousness.” 

I read  no  more,  and  stood  and  looked  at  the  men 
for  a moment,  when  one  old  sailor  said,  “ Boys,  let’s 
go  back  to  the  pumps.  That’s  a message  from  God  to 


7^  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

us,  and  He  never  lied.  I believe  he  will  fulfil  this 
promise.” 

They  did  .go  back  and  it  was  not  many  hours  until 
the  wind  shifted  and  went  down,  the  sea  moderated, 
and  on  the  23d  of  December,  1856,  we  entered  the 
harbour  of  Queenstown  and  came  to  anchor  after  hav- 
ing been  buffeted  about  on  the  coast  of  Ireland  for 
twenty-seven  days,  pumping  the  Western  Ocean 
through  the  ship. 

I immediately  employed  a gang  of  ’longshoremen 
to  come  off  and  man  the  pumps  and  sent  my  men  to  the 
forecastle,  where  they  slept  undisturbed  until  next 
morning. 

Then  the  underwriter’s  surveyors  came  aboard 
and  the  ship  was  ordered  to  the  Royal  Victoria 
Dockyard  at  Passage  West,  which  lies  about  mid- 
way between  Queenstown  and  Cork.  There  she  re- 
ceived orders  to  discharge  her  cargo,  go  into  dry 
dock  and  strip.  The  main  and  mizzenmasts  were 
sprung  and  had  to  be  taken  out,  and  we  remained  at 
Passage  West  over  four  months. 

An  amusing  incident  happened  while  our  repairs 
were  being  completed.  In  the  time  that  had  passed 
between  our  arrival  and  St.  Patrick’s  Day  I had  made 
many  good  friends  and  had  received  very  handsome 
treatment.  When  the  great  day  arrived,  therefore,  I 
was  determined  to  show  my  respect  for  the  country 
as  well  as  my  appreciation  of  the  extraordinary  hos- 
pitality, and  I ordered  made  for  me  a gorgeous  Irish 
flag,  and  at  sunrise  had  the  ship  gaily  dressed,  while 
from  the  main  royal  masthead  the  banner  and  the 
harp  of  Erin  tailed  out  on  the  breeze. 


Adventure  on  Coast  of  Ireland  79 

The  sight  gave  a vast  joy  to  the  townspeople,  who 
arrived  in  delegations  to  congratulate  me  on  my  flag 
display  and  to  contribute  certain  brands  of  the  “ old 
stuff  ” — a'  barrel  of  which  was  guaranteed  not  to  con- 
tain a single  headache. 

But  there  is  a fly  in  every  ointment.  Along  about 
ten  o’clock  in  the  morning  a twelve-oared  cutter  from 
the  British  guardship  pulled  alongside  the  dock,  a 
middy  with  half  a dozen  blue-jackets  landed,  and  to  my 
surprise  came  aboard.  There  were  about  a dozen  or 
more  townspeople  around  me  when  the  diminutive 
representative  of  the  Queen  approached  me  and  in  a 
funny,  pompous  voice  asked,  “ Who  is  the  master  of 
this  ship  ? ” 

“ I am  that  person,”  I acknowledged,  vastly  im- 
pressed by  his  manner.  “ To  what  am  I indebted  for 
this  formal  visit  ? ” 

Pointing  to  the  green  flag  above  us  he  said : “You 
will  haul  that  down  instantly,  sir,  or  I will  order  my 
men  to  do  it  for  you ! ” 

I suppose  I ought  to  have  been  very  much  fright- 
ened at  this  fierce  command.  Possibly  I was.  I know 
I was  a good  deal  amused. 

“Well,  what’s  the  matter  with  the  flag?”  I asked. 
“ Are  you  aware  that  this  is  an  American  ship  and 
that  you  have  no  right  on  these  decks  without  my  per- 
mission? Take  it  easy,  sonny,  and  tell  me  what’s 
wrong  with  the  flag.” 

“ Well,”  he  snapped,  “ that  flag  has  no  crown  over 
the  harp,  and  my  orders  are  to  have  it  hauled  down. 
Do  you  understand  ? ” 

“ I think  I gather  the  idea,”  I admitted.  “ I’ve 


8o  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

heard  better  English  than  yours,  but  you  mean  well 
enough.” 

I now  called  one  of  my  men  and  had  the  flag  low- 
ered. As  it  reached  the  deck  I said  to  the  middy, 
“ There,  little  man,  the  flag’s  down.  Now  run  along 
and  learn  politeness.” 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone  I had  a couple  of  my  men 
make  from  yellow  cloth  two  of  the  smallest  crowns 
ever  seen  over  a harp — the  harp  being  fully  three  feet 
long,  while  the  crowns  were  less  than  the  same  num- 
ber of  inches.  These  were  sewed,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  offending  flag,  which,  within  an  hour  after  it  had 
been  lowered,  again  went  to  the  masthead  amid  the 
cheers  of  a throng  of  shore  folk  who  had  gathered  to 
see  what  I was  going  to  do,  and  who  now  crowded  on 
board  to  join  in  a Patrick’s  Pot  of  celebration. 

It  was  about  one  o’clock  when  a man-o’-war’s  boat 
was  reported  coming  up  the  river,  heading  for  the 
docks.  The  news  spread  like  wildfire,  and  the  peo- 
ple came  rushing  from  their  dinners  to  see  how  the 
Yankee  skipper  was  going  to  act.  This  time  a young 
lieutenant  headed  the  boat’s  crew.  As  they  reached 
the  gangway,  I leaned  over  the  side,  and  was 
hailed. 

“Good-day,  sir,  are  you  the  master  of  the  ship? 
If  so,  I would  like  a word  with  you.” 

I replied  in  the  affirmative  and  the  officer  tripped  up 
the  gangway.  We  exchanged  cap  courtesies,  and  he 
said, 

“ My  commanding  officer  sent  a message  this  morn- 
ing to  inform  you  that  you  cannot  fly  the  Irish  flag  in 
port,  and  that  it  must  be  hauled  down.  I have  no  de- 


Adventure  on  Coast  of  Ireland  81 

sire  to  do  anything  unpleasant,  but  I must  obey 
orders.” 

“ But,”  I replied,  “ the  middy  who  came  said  that 
the  objection  was  that  no  crown  was  over  the  harp, 
and  this  fault  I have  remedied.” 

The  gentlemanly  lieutenant  gazed  aloft  and  shifted 
his  position,  but  he  was  not  able  to  distinguish  the 
emblem  that  was  in  dispute.  Then  he  asked  permis- 
sion to  call  one  of  his  men  aboard,  but  the  sailor’s 
eyesight  was  no  better.  In  fact  no  one  could  distin- 
guish the  little  crowns  at  such  an  elevation. 

I now  ordered  one  of  my  men  to  haul  down  the  ban- 
ner for  a second  time  and  spread  it  upon  the  deck — 
the  great  Irish  harp  with  the  funny  little  crown  above. 
The  lieutenant  stared  at  it  a minute;  then  he  said: 

“ My  dear  fellow,  that  crown  is  all  out  of  propor- 
tion to  the  harp.  You  could  not  distinguish  it  five  feet 
away — much  less  at  the  masthead.” 

“ But  the  crown  is  there,”  I insisted.  “ Of  course 
we  have  no  naval  book  of  instruction  on  how  to  build 
flags,  and  I may  haye  made  the  crown  on  it  a little 
out  of  proportion;  but  it’s  there,  according  to  orders. 
Hoist  the  flag  again,  boys ! ” 

The  poor  lieutenant  looked  a bit  puzzled,  and  after 
thinking  a minute  said,  “ Good-day,  Captain,  I’ll  re- 
turn to  the  ship  and  make  my  report.” 

I offered  to  share  a Patrick’s  Pot  with  him,  but  he 
said  he  must  hasten  back,  and  left  the  vessel.  As  the 
crowd  saw  his  boat  leave  our  side  they  set  up  a wild 
cheering,  and  many  Patrick  Pots  went  around  that 
afternoon,  in  sight  of  the  old  banner  of  Erin. 

A few  days  later  an  invitation  came  from  the  com- 


82  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

manding  officer  of  the  guardship  to  dine  with  him  on 
board  the  vessel.  I suspected  some  sort  of  a trap  to 
catch  me,  but  nevertheless  went  and  met  a jolly  old 
captain,  who  greeted  me  most  cordially,  and  intro- 
duced me  to  a choice  lot  of  jovial  fellows.  We  had  a 
grand  time,  and  I was  asked  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
crownless  and  crowned  flag,  and  I think  everybody 
enjoyed  the  incident.  When  a few  weeks  later  we  left 
Ireland,  the  whole  “ blooming  ” town  bade  us  God- 
speed, and  waved  us  a parting.  The  dock  was  a cloud 
of  handkerchiefs,  while  from  windows,  sheets,  table- 
cloths, petticoats,  anything  that  could  be  seen,  went 
streaming  on  the  wind. 


XVIII 


I Abandon  Sailing  Vessels  and  Encounter 
Dangers  of  a New  Sort 

1 HARDLY  need  to  mention  a number  of  small 
sailing  vessels  in  which  I sailed,  or  of  which  I 
was  in  command  during  the  middle  fifties.  Of 
some  of  them  I do  not  even  remember  the  names.  I 
recall  that  I brought  one  schooner  of  about  four  hun- 
dred tons  from  Kingston,  Jamaica,  to  New  York, 
with  only  one  man  besides  myself,  the  others  having 
fallen  ill  of  yellow  fever  two  days  after  we  left  port. 

But  steam  was  now  beginning  to  be  the  thing.  The 
Collins  line,  between  New  York  and  Liverpool,  had 
been  established  and  Commodore  Vanderbilt  was 
ready  to  begin  opposition.  I decided  to  give  up  sail- 
ing for  steam  and  looked  about  for  a berth.  Going 
aboard  the  Northern  Light,  I explained  my  errand  to 
Captain  Tinklepaugh,  whom  I knew. 

“ Why,  Captain,”  said  he,  “ what  under  the  sun 
do  you  want  to  leave  a good  thing  for?  You  will  have 
to  begin  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  in  a steamer.  I’d 
like  to  have  you,  but  the  only  post  open  on  this  vessel 
is  that  of  quartermaster.  I want  a quartermaster.” 

My  reply  was,  “ Captain,  you’ve  got  a quartermas- 
ter, right  here.” 

I was  willing  to  accept  this  inferior  position  to  get 
a knowledge  of  steam  sailing,  and  the  ways  of  steam 

83 


84  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

sailors.  My  sole  duties  were  to  steer  the  vessel  (taking 
my  trick  at  the  wheel  with  three  other  quartermasters), 
to  attend  to  the  signals,  to  clean  the  brass  work  in  the 
pilot  house,  and,  when  in  port,  to  stand  watch  at  one 
of  the  gangways.  It  was  quite  a come-down  from 
being  master  of  a ship,  but  my  reasons  for  accepting 
the  berth  were  sound,  as  events  proved.  This  was  in 

1857- 

My  first  voyage  in  the  Northern  Light  was  across 
the  Atlantic,  and  it  was  also  her  first  to  Southampton, 
Havre,  and  Bremen. 

On  my  return  to  New  York  I was  offered  position 
as  fourth  mate  in  the  steamship  Moses  Taylor — Cap- 
tain John  McGowan — engaged  in  the  trade  between 
New  York  and  Aspinwall — now  Colon — in  connection 
with  the  Panama  Railway.  Captain  McGowan  proved 
a lifelong  friend  and  was  really  my  father  in  steam 
shipping.  Under  his  command  I rose  steadily  to  the 
position  of  chief  officer.  One  of  my  voyages  in  the 
Moses  Taylor  still  presents  itself  as  a vivid  memory. 

One  morning  about  two  o’clock  a quartermaster 
came  to  where  I stood  near  the  pilot  house  and  said, 
very  quietly, 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  the  ship  is  on  fire.” 

“ Where  is  it  ? ” I asked. 

“ In  the  lamp  room,  forward.” 

The  lamp  room  was  on  the  steerage  deck,  where 
were  quartered  between  seven  hundred  and  eight  hun- 
dred returning  California  miners. 

The  quartermaster  had  already  informed  the  chief 
engineer,  who  had  set  the  pumps  going.  I now  or- 
dered the  vessel  put  before  the  wind  so  the  fire  would 


Dangers  of  a New  Sort  85 

not  blow  through  her,  ran  aft  and  told  Captain  Mc- 
Gowan, so  that  he  might  take  charge  of  the  deck. 
There  was  no  noise  made — no  alarm  of  any  sort;  but 
when  we  reached  the  hold  we  were  unable  to  unlock 
the  lamp  room  door.  This  necessitated  the  use  of  an 
axe,  and  the  noise,  with  the  volume  of  smoke  that 
poured  out,  aroused  the  sleeping  passengers.  In  a 
moment  they  were  panic-stricken,  jumping  out  of 
their  berths  and  blocking  the  gangways. 

Before  going  below,  I had  hastily  put  on  two  re- 
volvers, for  those  were  desperate  days,  and  with  a 
quantity  of  specie  and  gold  bars  aboard  and  a pas- 
senger list  like  ours  there  was  no  telling  what  might 
happen  in  case  of  a stampede.  I now  saw  that  some- 
thing must  be  done  instantly  to  avert  a panic,  which 
would  certainly  interfere  with  our  work  and  might 
mean  destruction  to  the  ship.  I drew  my  revolvers, 
sprang  into  the  passageway  between  the  berths  and 
levelled  them  at  the  men  before  me. 

“ Gentlemen,”  I said,  “ the  first  man  who  attempts 
to  get  to  those  gangway  ladders  will  be  shot.  There 
is  no  danger.  We  can  handle  this  fire  if  you  will  give 
us  a chance;  but  I will  kill  the  first  man  that  makes  a 
move.” 

There  was  some  wordy  protest  at  this  and  a good 
deal  of  grumbling.  They  were  a pretty  hard  lot  and 
all  armed.  They  could  have  made  mince-meat  of  me, 
but  I would  have  scored  with  a few  of  them,  first.  I 
suppose  they  realised  this,  for  no  one  attempted  to 
make  the  break. 

Meantime  the  crew  had  got  the  hose  into  the  lamp 
room,  and  within  two  minutes  the  fire  was  out.  I in- 


86  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

formed  the  passengers  of  this  fact  and  ordered  them 
to  remain  in  their  berths  until  the  apparatus  was  re- 
moved and  the  slop  and  dirt  cleared  away.  They 
grumbled  again  and  there  were  some  threats,  but  they 
had  quieted  down  by  daybreak. 

On  the  morning  that  we  were  to  arrive  in  New 
York  the  captain  called  me  aft  where  all  the  passen- 
gers were  gathered.  Among  them  was  a big  rough 
fellow  who  had  been  a sort  of  leader  during  the 
voyage,  and  one  of  the  most  savage  of  those  who  had 
wanted  to  pass  me  on  the  night  of  the  fire.  He  had  a 
bag  in  his  hand  now,  and  as  I came  up  to  them  he 
said : 

“ See  here,  Cap,  we  made  a lot  o’  damn  fools  of  our- 
selves the  other  night,  an’  you  done  just  the  right 
thing.  We  want  to  show  you  that  we  don’t  hold  no 
hard  feelings.  Here ! ” and  he  shoved  the  bag  into 
my  hands. 

It  was  a short  speech  and  to  the  point.  The  bag 
contained  five  hundred  and  sixty  dollars  in  gold. 

I continued  in  the  steam  trade  about  two  years,  and 
besides  the  Northern  Light  and  Moses  Taylor,  held 
positions  on  the  St.  Louis,  Illinois,  and  on  the  Gaute- 
mala — Captain  J.  M.  Dow — a ship  that  made  the  first 
voyage  around  the  Horn  from  New  York  to  Panama 
without  touching  at  any  port  for  coal.  We  went 
through  the  Straits  of  Magellan,  and  my  notes  of  this 
passage  were  used  for  several  years  by  other  steamers 
that  went  that  route.  We  reached  Panama  in  fifty-  . 
two  days  from  New  York — a notable  trip. 

On  the  Guatemala,  also,  we  had  a fire,  more  alarm- 
ing though  less  dramatic  than  the  one  already  men- 


Dangers  of  a New  Sort  87 

tioned.  The  ship  was  loaded  with  nothing  but  coal — ■ 
much  of  it  in  the  between  decks,  stowed  in  gunny 
bags.  The  third  assistant  engineer  went  down  one 
night  with  a petticoat-lamp  and  in  some  manner  set 
fire  to  the  bagging. 

Immediately  the  gunny  cloth  was  in  flames  and  he 
came  out  of  the  hold  half  suffocated.  It  was  my  watch 
below  at  the  time,  but  I was  wakened  by  the  tramping 
on  deck  and  hastily  dressing  came  up  to  find  the  smoke 
pouring  out  of  the  forehatch  in  dense  volumes.  It 
was  almost  impossible  to  go  down  there,  and  the  boats 
were  provisioned  and  swung  clear,  ready  to  leave  the 
ship.  We  were  then  about  four  hundred  miles  off  the 
coast  of  Brazil. 

Yet  we  did  fight  that  fire,  going  down  in  relays, 
each  for  a few  minutes,  and  coming  to  the  deck  for 
fresh  air.  It  was  two  o’clock  when  we  began,  and  by 
eleven  next  morning  we  had  it  extinguished.  There 
was  no  riot  or  panic — we  had  no  passengers — but  it 
was  a thankful  lot  of  men  who  realised  that  escape. 
Speaking  of  fires,  I am  reminded  of  an  alarm  that 
was  serious  enough  for  a moment,  but  was  not  without 
humour  too. 

It  was  on  board  the  Northern  Light,  whose  boiler 
fronts  were  painted  red;  a passenger  looking  down 
through  the  boiler  hatch  saw  this  flame-like  colour 
amid  a cloud  of  steam,  and  shouted,  “ Fire ! ” Imme- 
diately the  whole  vessel  was  ip  an  uproar  and  a dan- 
gerous panic  was  imminent.  I am  afraid  I used  some 
pretty  violent  marine  language  in  explaining  that  it 
was  a false  alarm.  But  the  climax  came  when  I saw 
a minister  of  the  gospel  on  the  rail  trying  to  lower 


88  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

the  bow  of  one  of  the  ship’s  boats.  I ran  to  him  and 
ordered  him  to  come  down  on  deck.  He  paid  no  at- 
tention and  I seized  his  coat  tail  to  drag  him  down  by 
force.  Perhaps  it  was  an  old  coat,  for  the  seams  parted 
and  a second  later  I had  the  ministerial  tail  in  my 
hands.  He  came  down  then,  and  he  was  mad.  He  was 
also  a spectacle  to  look  upon.  He  started  to  call  an 
indignation  meeting,  but  most  of  the  passengers  had 
recovered  from  their  fright  by  this  time  and  were 
inclined  to  be  merry  at  the  reverend  gentleman’s  ex- 
pense. He  went  raging  to  the  captain,  who  summoned 
me  to  appear.  I came,  still  carrying  the  coat  tail  in 
my  hand. 

“ Mr.  Osbon,”  he  said,  “ what  are  your  orders  in 
case  of  a false  alarm  of  fire.” 

“ My  orders,”  I said,  “ are  to  stop  it  by  any  means 
necessary.  I may  knock  a man  down,  throttle  him,  or 
split  him  wide  open.” 

The  captain  turned  to  the  irate  minister. 

“ Those  are  Mr.  Osbon’s  orders,”  he  said.  “ You 
are  fortunate  that  it  was  only  your  coat  that  was  split 
wide  open,  and  not  you.” 

I remained  on  the  Gautemala  until  one  day  Captain 
Dow  and  I were  crossing  a hatch,  when  the  cover 
tipped  and  precipitated  us  both  into  the  lower  hold. 
The  captain  was  unhurt,  but  I unshipped  my  kneecap. 
In  spite  of  the  surgeon’s  prophecy  that  I would  lose 
my  leg,  I remained  in  my  berth  but  a few  days  and 
finished  the  voyage,  and  subsequently  two  more,  on 
crutches.  Finally  I was  ordered  north  on  leave  of  ab- 
sence with  pay.  I soon  dispensed  with  the  crutches, 
but  for  a long  time  carried  a cane.  Then  an  offer 


Danger  of  a New  Sort  89 

was  made  me  to  take  a small  schooner  to  Brazil — a 
gnarda  costa,  or  revenue  cutter.  I accepted,  and  re- 
turning as  far  as  St.  Thomas  was  requested  by  the 
American  Consul  to  take  charge  of  the  ship  Thomas 
Wales,  whose  master  had  died  of  yellow  fever.  I 
brought  her  safely  to  New  York  after  a passage  of 
fourteen  days.  This  was  in  1858  and  closed  my  career 
in  the  merchant  marine. 

I now  entered  upon  a period  of  different,  though  no 
less  active,  service.  The  Civil  War  was  brewing.  The 
air  was  full  of  secession,  and  the  time  was  coming 
when  there  would  be  opportunities  for  all  men  who 
had  smelled  powder  and  had  a knowledge  of  the  sea. 
I was  to  have  a part  in  that  time,  as  we  shall  see, 
though  not  before  some  rather  interesting  and,  I may 
say,  preparatory,  experience  in  other  fields. 


XIX 


I Make  a Venture  into  the  Lecture  Field 
and  Embark  in  Newspaper  Work 

THE  course  of  a man’s  life  is  usually  altered 
by  trifles — or  at  least  what  seem  to  be  such 
— and  it  was  through  the  merest  accident 
that  I now  found  myself  following  a walk  of  life 
which  in  my  wildest  dreams  I had  never  even  con- 
templated— that  of  a public  lecturer.  It  came  about 
in  this  wise: 

A lecture  course  was  in  progress  at  Yorkville — now 
East  86th  Street,  as  before  mentioned.  The  Rev. 
Henry  Ward  Beecher  was  to  be  the  speaker  on  a cer- 
tain night,  which  proved  so  stormy  that,  in  those  days 
of  poor  transportation,  the  prospect  of  a journey  from 
Brooklyn  was  enough  to  discourage  the  stoutest  heart. 
At  all  events,  Mr.  Beecher  did  not  appear,  and  some- 
body in  the  audience  (and  in  spite  of  the  storm  a 
pretty  good  one  had  gathered)  proposed  that  Captain 
Osbon  spin  a yarn.  To  please  the  audience,  and  to 
earn  the  promised  stipend,  I ascended  the  platform 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life. 

I must  have  succeeded,  for  the  next  day  the  young 
men  of  the  village  (as  it  was  then)  suggested  that  I 
give  a lecture  in  Wakeman  Hall.  The  boys  promised 
to  lend  a helping  hand — the  post  office  sold  tickets, 
and  when  I entered  the  hall  it  was  packed.  The  only 

90 


Into  the  Lecture  Field  91 

face  I missed  was  that  of  my  own  father.  I had  given 
him  and  my  mother  tickets,  but  they  did  not  wish  to 
come,  and  see  me  fail. 

Still  my  father  could  not  resist.  I had  scarcely  com- 
menced when  I saw  his  cloak,  and  his  face  above  it. 
He  slipped  into  the  hall  and  sat  down  behind  the 
stove. 

Now,  I had  prepared  my  lecture  with  care,  and  in 
manuscript  form.  Imagine  my  feeling  when  I got  on 
the  platform  and  felt  in  my  pockets  for  it  and  found 
it  missing.  It  was  a trying  moment,  but  I don’t  think 
anybody  noticed  my  difficulty.  I went  ahead,  just  as 
I had  done  a few  evenings  before,  only  on  a heavier 
scale.  I do  not  think  I shall  be  boasting  if  I say  that 
the  audience  was  spellbound — first  with  curiosity, 
then  with  the  story  of  my  travels.  I was  full  of 
all  that  I had  seen,  and  I told  it  in  a way  that 
perhaps  made  some  of  them  think  they  had  seen  it, 
too. 

But  I kept  my  eye  on  my  father.  In  fact  I talked 
at  my  father.  At  last  the  old  gentleman  got  up,  left 
his  seat  behind  the  stove  and  came  up  farther  front. 
The  nearer  he  got,  the  more  I warmed  to  my  subject, 
and  when  I finished  I think  everybody  was  satisfied. 
I certainly  was,  for  the  doorkeeper  turned  over  the 
proceeds,  which  were  between  sixty  and  seventy  dol- 
lars, and  with  this  tied  up  in  a handkerchief  I went 
home  to  receive  amazed  congratulations  from  my  par- 
ents, especially  my  father,  who  had  never  received  so 
much  for  one  of  his  excellent  sermons. 

“ My  boy,”  he  said,  “ where  did  you  learn  to  talk 
like  that  ? ” Then  he  counted  the  money  over  and 


92  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

over.  I believe  he  thought  he  was  dreaming  and 
would  soon  wake  up. 

I put  in  three  months  lecturing  after  that.  I was 
my  own  booking  and  billing  agent,  and  in  some  in- 
stances my  own  treasurer  up  to  the  moment  of  going 
to  the  platform.  I painted  my  own  posters  in  water 
colours,  and  put  them  up  at  night  so  as  to  preserve 
my  dignity  as  the  chief  attraction.  I appeared  in 
churches  and  lyceums,  and  told  of  missionaries,  can- 
nibals, Arctic  exploration  and  piracy,  according  to  my 
audience.  I had  a varied  experience  that  winter;  but 
I cleared  eight  hundred  dollars  in  the  three  months, 
and  had  a good  deal  of  enjoyment  besides. 

-While  on  my  lecture  tour  I was  frequently  asked 
by  country  editors  to  sit  down  in  the  office  and  write 
something  about  my  entertainment.  I was  glad  to  do 
this,  and  little  by  little  acquired  a taste  for  seeing  my 
work  in  public  print.  When  the  New  York  Confer- 
ence met  in  New  York  in  May  I attended  its  regular 
sessions  as  I had  been  accustomed  to  do  in  boyhood, 
and  there  met  an  old  schoolmate  who  was  reporting 
the  Conference  for  the  Commercial  Advertiser,  then 
edited  by  Francis  Hall.  My  friend,  being  suddenly 
taken  ill  and  knowing  that  I was  familiar  with  Con- 
ference proceedings,  asked  me  to  finish  his  copy  for 
that  session,  instructing  me  how  to  turn  it  in  to  the 
paper.  Mr.  Hall  complimented  me  on  my  afternoon’s 
work  and  directed  me  to  continue  through  the  Con- 
ference, at  the  end  of  which  he  paid  me  a liberal  sum 
— for  those  days. 

I now  surrendered  all  other  ambitions  for  newspa- 
per work.  I liked  it  and  I found  it  easy.  For  a time 


Into  the  Lecture  Field  93 

I wrote  for  most  of  the  New  York  papers,  combining 
marine  and  theological  subjects  in  a manner  which 
the  editors  must  have  found  satisfactory. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  New  York  World 
was  in  the  process  of  being  founded.  Nathan  D. 
Bangs,  son  of  Lemuel  Bangs,  was  treasurer  of  the 
company,  and  as  the  paper  was  to  be  a Methodist 
organ,  published  with  clean  sheets  and  clean  reading, 
I decided  that  this  was  my  opportunity.  I therefore 
applied  for  the  position  of  marine  reporter,  and  was 
engaged,  becoming,  I believe,  the  first  reporter  em- 
ployed by  the  New  York  World. 

My  work,  however,  was  not  confined  to  marine  re- 
porting. Money  was  a scarce  article  at  the  World 
office  in  those  days  and  each  man  had  to  do  a num- 
ber of  things.  I remember  as  my  first  important  as- 
signment, the  arrival  in  New  York,  on  June  16th, 
i860,  of  the  first  official  Japanese  delegation  sent  to 
the  United  States  to  observe  our  progress  and  to  study 
our  methods.  This  delegation  had  its  headquarters  at 
the  Metropolitan  Hotel.  A splendid  reception  was 
given  them,  and  a great  parade  marched  in  their 
honour.  That  marked  the  beginning  of  Japanese 
progress,  though  no  one  then  believed  the  nation 
would  ever  make  any  real  use  of  American  ideas.  Our 
chief  idea  was  to  treat  them  so  well  that  they  would 
let  us  trade  freely  in  their  ports  and  would  buy  our 
goods.  Little  we  thought  that  within  fifty  years  they 
would  equal  us  in  progress  and  excel  the  world  in 
warfare,  though,  even  then,  those  of  us  who  were  near 
them  any  length  of  time  could  not  help  observing  how 
studious  and  observant  they  were.  Every  moment, 


94  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

when  not  otherwise  employed,  they  were  studying 
English  books  and  dictionaries,  poring  over  drawings 
and  plans,  and  with  a patience  and  a harmony  among 
themselves  truly  marvellous  to  us.  That  is  the  whole 
secret  of  Japanese  success. 

I remember  that  the  chief  feature  to  the  general 
public  of  the  Japanese  delegation  was  a little  juggler 
called  “ Tommy,”  the  smallest  man  in  the  party,  and 
the  youngest.  He  had  a charming  way  with  him  and 
used  to  keep  paper  toys  in  the  air  with  a fan.  The 
New  York  ladies  were  all  in  love  with  “ Little 
Tommy,”  and  the  Mikado’s  relatives  dropped  into 
comparative  insignificance.  I have  heard  that  he  be- 
came too  popular,  and  the  question,  soon  after  he  re- 
turned to  Japan,  “ Where  is  Little  Tommy  now  ? ” 
still  remains  unanswered. 

It  was  a great  thing  in  those  days  for  a newspaper 
man  to  get  a “ beat,”  and  my  first  big  achievement  of 
this  kind  was  a report  and  description  of  the  Stevens 
Bomb-proof  Floating  Battery,  then  building  in  Hobo- 
ken. The  Herald  had  spent  a good  deal  of  energy  and 
money  trying  to  get  inside  the  excavation  made  in 
the  Hoboken  hillside — a sort  of  dry  dock  in  which 
Commodore  Stevens  had  built  this  piece  of  floating 
armament.  Mr.  Croly,  city  editor  of  the  World,  told 
me  if  I could  get  the  eagerly  sought  description  it 
would  be  worth  twenty  dollars  to  me.  That  was  a 
large  sum  in  those  days,  but  I cared  more  for  the 
glory. 

One  morning  I went  over  there  to  reconnoitre.  I 
found  that  the  stories  of  watchmen,  guns,  etc.,  had 
been  exaggerated,  and  presently  discovered  a hole  in 


Into  the  Lecture  Field  95 

the  fence,  through  which  I crawled,  taking  such  risk 
of  being  shot  as  seemed  necessary  to  the  work  in  hand. 
Fairly  inside  the  excavation,  I found  no  ladder  by 
which  I could  get  into  the  vessel,  but  there  were  open 
rivet  holes,  and  sharpening  some  sticks  I put  these 
through  as  I climbed  and  presently  was  inside,  pacing 
off  the  dimensions,  and  estimating  the  depth.  I came 
out  unobserved,  went  to  the  machine  shop  and  saw 
parts  of  her  engine.  With  my  knowledge  of  steam- 
ships, I constructed  the  battery  in  my  mind  with  fair 
accuracy,  then  went  to  the  office  and  asked  permission 
to  go  aboard,  but  was  peremptorily  refused  and  or- 
dered off  the  premises.  Next  morning  Commodore 
Stevens  read  a description  of  his  vessel,  which  created 
a profound  sensation  among  naval  men  as  well  as 
newspaper  editors,  and  everybody  wanted  to  know 
who  had  been  smart  enough  to  get  to  the  windward 
of  the  Commodore.  Frederick  Hudson,  then  manag- 
ing editor  of  the  Herald,  and  one  of  the  keenest  ob- 
servers and  ablest  newspapermen  I have  ever  known, 
was  particularly  anxious  to  know  who  did  the  Stevens 
Battery  article,  and  upon  learning  the  facts  sent  for 
me,  and  subsequently  employed  me,  though  that  is  a 
later  matter  and  the  beginning  of  a longer  story. 


XX 


I Meet  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Enjoy 
His  Friendship 

IT  was  in  October,  i860,  while  I was  still  on  the 
World,  that  the  Prince  of  Wales,  under  the 
guidance  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  made  his 
visit  to  this  country.  He  arrived  on  the  nth  at 
the  Battery,  and  his  reception  was  an  extraordinary 
affair. 

The  Harriet  Lane,  a revenue  cutter  commanded  by 
Captain  John  Faunce,  had  been  turned  over  to  the 
Prince  and  his  suite  by  President  Buchanan  in  person, 
for  his  special  use  while  in  our  waters.  She  was  a 
craft  of  great  beauty,  well  adapted  to  royal  service 
and  functions,  and  became  really  the  floating  head- 
quarters of  the  Prince.  He  had  used  her  in  his  jour- 
ney from  Washington  to  Richmond,  Baltimore,  and 
Philadelphia,  and  on  the  morning  of  October  nth 
she  met  the  royal  visitors  at  South  Amboy  and  con- 
veyed them  to  the  Battery,  where  they  were  welcomed 
by  about  the  most  enthusiastic  crowd  that  this  or  any 
other  nation  ever  saw. 

The  royal  party  had  engaged  a suite  of  fifteen  rooms 
at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel — the  corner  suite  on  the 
second  floor,  fronting  Fifth  Avenue  and  Twenty-third 
Street — and  the  reception  parade  up  Broadway  was 
the  most  imposing  affair  New  York  had  known  up 

96 


Meet  the  Prince  of  Wales  97 

t J that  time.  Every  flag  and  piece  of  bunting  on  Man- 
hattan Island  is  said  to  have  been  unfurled  that  day. 
Every  balcony  was  a mass  of  ladies,  with  big  hoop- 
skirts  which  made  them  look  like  inverted  balloons 
jammed  together.  Every  piece  of  coping  and  cornice 
was  fringed  with  heads  of  men  and  boys,  who  clung 
there  for  hours  waiting  for  the  procession  to  pass. 
The  street  below  was  a mass  of  people,  and  when  the 
cortege  did  come  it  was  almost  impossible  for  it  to 
make  its  way  along.  One  of  the  papers  said  that  a 
tide  of  quicksilver  could  not  have  slipped  through 
that  crowd. 

The  parade  was  late  leaving  the  Battery,  and  it  was 
after  dark  before  it  reached  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel, 
but  nobody  begrudged  the  time.  The  spectators  were 
glad  that  the  procession  had  to  move  slowly  so  they 
could  get  a good  long  look  at  the  Prince.  He  rode 
in  a barouche,  bought  especially  for  the  occasion  by 
liveryman  Van  Raust  at  the  “ vast  expenditure  of  one 
thousand  dollars  ” and  drawn  by  six  black  horses. 
He  was  a boy  of  only  nineteen  then,  fair  and  slender, 
and  the  women  went  simply  mad  when  they  looked 
down  on  his  pretty  young  face.  When  he  reached 
the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
steer  him  through  the  tossing  billows  of  crinoline. 
Women  pulled  and  jammed  and  crowded  to  get  a 
closer  view,  and  struggled  to  get  near  enough  to 
touch  his  royal  person.  One  large  lady  who  had 
worked  her  way  to  the  front  seized  him  by  the  arm  as 
he  passed. 

“ Be  you  the  Prince  ? ” she  demanded.  “ Be  you 
the  Prince?” 


9 8 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

“ I am,  Madam,”  he  answered  and  dashed  franti- 
cally up  a convenient  stair. 

The  big  woman  turned  and  faced  the  crowd,  wild 
with  happiness. 

“ I seen  him  an’  I touched  him,”  she  cried  joyously. 

If  she  is  not  still  alive,  she  probably  died  happy 
because  of  that  experience.  A little  boy  who  was  held 
up  for  view  called  out, 

“ Why,  Pa,  he’s  only  a man ! ” and  that  expressed 
a good  deal  of  the  general  idea  that  the  Prince  of 
Wales  was  something  more  than  just  a handsome, 
good-natured,  generous  boy — one  of  the  best  young 
fellows  in  the  world. 

Before  he  came  to  New  York,  when  they  asked  him 
what  he  would  like,  he  said, 

“ I would  like  a torchlight  procession,  a ball,  and 
an  unobserved  seat  in  Mr.  Beecher’s  church  on  Sun- 
day evening.” 

He  got  the  procession  on  arrival.  The  ball  came 
off  at  the  Academy  of  Music,  which  still  stands  on 
the  corner  of  Fourteenth  Street  and  Irving  Place.  The 
New  York  idea  of  royal  splendour  in  those  days  was 
to  have  plenty  of  crimson  velvet.  The  Fourteenth 
Street  entrance  and  passageway  was  walled  with  this 
goods,  and  wherever  on  the  floor  of  the  Academy  the 
royal  foot  was  like  to  step,  crimson  velvet  carpet  had 
been  laid.  On  the  stage  there  was  a white  tent  with 
a crimson  velvet  carpet,  and  with  a crimson  velvet 
dais  in  the  centre  where  the  Prince  could  sit  and 
view  the  crowd.  Forty  crimson-covered  pedestals  were 
scattered  about  the  place  and  on  these  were  iron  vases 
of  flowers.  The  crimson  idea  was  carried  out  a good 


Meet  the  Prince  of  Wales  99 

deal  in  the  dresses  too,  and  probably  there  were  never 
so  many  diamonds  together  in  New  York  before. 
Well,  we  did  the  best  we  could  with  such  money  and 
taste  as  we  had  in  those  days,  and  the  ball,  with  the 
supper  that  followed,  cost  what  was  then  considered 
the  enormous  sum  of  forty  thousand  dollars.  I re- 
member that  on  the  Prince’s  table  at  supper  there  was 
a statuette  of  Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Albert  at 
one  end,  and  a representation  of  a railroad  train  and 
locomotive  crossing  a suspension  bridge  on  the  New 
York  Central  at  the  other.  I don’t  know  just  what 
was  meant  by  this  combination,  but  it  seemed  to  mean 
something  at  the  time  and  everybody  thought  it  was 
all  right.  I believe  some  of  the  papers  did  find  fault 
with  the  committee  on  arrangements — mostly  aider- 
men,  I think — and  tried  to  make  out  that  the  parade 
and  ball  had  been  failures.  But  this  verdict  was  un- 
popular, even  with  the  Prince,  who,  as  stated,  was  the 
best  of  good  fellows  and  pleased  at  everything.  At 
all  events,  the  Japanese  reception  and  entertainment 
had  been  outdone,  and  it  was  a busy  time  for  every- 
body in  New  York,  especially  for  the  newspaper  men. 

As  I have  said,  I was  marine  reporter  on  the  World 
then,  though  other  assignments  often  came  my  way. 

One  of  our  best  descriptive  writers  had  been  dele- 
gated to  travel  about  with  the  Prince,  but  perhaps  he 
described  too  much,  for  frequently  his  copy  didn’t 
get  to  the  office  in  time,  and  the  other  papers  were 
“ beating  ” us  daily.  One  morning  the  managing  edi- 
tor sent  for  me  and  said, 

“ Osbon,  we  want  you  to  take  the  Prince  of  Wales 
in  hand  and  stay  by  him  while  he  is  in  this  country. 


IOO  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

You  are  prompt  and  we  shall  rely  upon  you.  Use  the 
telegraph  and  don’t  let  us  be  beaten  again.” 

I did  not  need  a second  order,  and  if  we  were 
beaten  again  I never  heard  of  it.  I don’t  think  I was 
ever  very  much  at  describing  costumes  and  floral 
decorations,  but  I knew  what  was  going  on  and  how 
to  get  my  copy  to  the  office  in  time.  Eventually  I 
met  the  Prince  in  person  and  became  his  friend.  This 
is  how  it  happened : 

We  were  on  board  the  Harriet  Lane,  which  was  al- 
ways at  hand  during  his  stay,  and  a number  of  visitors 
were  present,  including  guests,  reporters,  and  Mr. 
Archibald,  our  British  Consul,  whom  I knew  very  well 
indeed.  In  those  days  I wore  a very  long  beard — one 
that  would  seem  to  have  attracted  even  the  eye  of 
royalty — for  the  Prince  singled  me  out  and  inquired 
of  Mr.  Archibald  who  was  the  gentleman  with  the 
enormous  growth  of  whiskers.  Mr.  Archibald  told 
him  and  asked  if  he  would  like  to  have  the  World 
reporter  presented.  His  reply  was  favourable,  and  I 
was  formally  presented  to  England’s  present  king. 
Beardless  boy  as  he  was,  I think  I suspected  that  he 
wanted  to  get  the  secret  of  my  hair  tonic.  At  all  events 
we  became  good  friends  from  the  start.  Every  day  he 
used  to  single  me  out  and  give  me  some  of  his  royal 
cigars,  and  we  smoked  and  talked  together.  I was 
with  him  daily  up  to  the  time  of  his  departure,  he 
always  having  a pleasant  word  and  usually  a good 
many  questions  concerning  the  people  about  us. 

I went  with  the  Prince  to  West  Point  on  the  Har- 
riet Lane,  October  15,  and  remained  with  him  until 
his  return  to  his  native  land.  When  we  parted  he 


Meet  the  Prince  of  Wales  ioi 

shook  hands  as  with  an  old  friend  and  cordially  in- 
vited me  to  come  and  see  him  whenever  I was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water.  I had  seen  him  once  before 
as  a child  with  his  mother,  on  my  first  visit  to  Liver- 
pool in  the  Cornelia,  when,  it  will  be  remembered,  I 
fought  my  way  to  the  ropes,  and  I was  to  see  him 
more  than  once,  later.  He  always  seemed  to  me  just 
what  a prince  should  be — a beautiful  child,  a generous, 
noble  boy,  a perfect  English  gentleman. 

It  was  not  until  1869  that  I saw  him  again.  I was 
then  in  Paris,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  there  at- 
tending the  races.  He  was  a man  of  the  world  by  this 
time,  but  the  same  unpretentious  good  fellow  I had 
known  as  a boy.  I was  passing  down  the  street  with 
Rear  Admiral  Gregory’s  son  and  two  or  three  other 
young  Americans,  when  we  came  to  the  Jockey  Club. 
I said, 

“ The  Prince  of  Wales  is  in  there — I’m  going  in 
to  see  his  royal  highness.” 

Somebody  said,  “ Dollars  to  doughnuts  you  don’t.” 
I took  out  my  card  and  went  up  to  the  attendant 
at  the  door  and  said, 

“ I should  like  to  see  the  Prince  of  Wales.” 

He  looked  me^over  and  referred  my  card  to  some 
higher  flunkey,  and  in  time  it  reached  an  official  who 
came  out  and  asked  what  business  I had  with  the 
Prince.  I replied  that  I was  with  him  during  his  visit 
to  the  United  States,  and  that  when  we  parted  he  in- 
vited me  to  call  if  I came  across  the  water.  I think 
the  guard  was  a little  dubious  about  my  story ; but  he 
took  my  card  and  presently  returned  and  ushered  me 
into  the  royal  presence.  My  long  whiskers  had  been 


io2  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

replaced  by  a Napoleonic  goatee  and  moustache,  but 
he  remembered  me  in  a moment,  got  up  from  his 
chair,  met  me  with  a cordial  handshake,  asked  me  to 
be  seated,  and  pushed  the  carafe  my  way.  Then  he 
said : 

“Well,  how’s  Captain  John  Faunce?”  Faunce,  as 
will  be  remembered,  commanded  the  Harriet  Lane  and 
was  always  a great  favourite  of  his. 

We  chatted  fully  half  an  hour,  and  when  I left  he 
renewed  his  invitation  to  visit  him  in  London. 

I may  say  here  that  I availed  myself  of  the  Prince’s 
invitation  more  than  once  in  after  years,  always  find- 
ing him  the  same.  I will  recall  only  one  of  these  oc- 
casions, however,  and  this  simply  to  show  his  kind- 
ness of  heart  and  friendly  spirit  for  one  who  could  be 
of  no  possible  service  to  him. 

It  was  one  day,  several  years  later,  when  I had  been 
to  Woolwich  Arsenal  and  refused  admittance,  that  I 
remembered  having  a friend  at  court.  I went  to  Marl- 
borough House  and  sent  in  my  card.  I had  been  there 
before,  so  had  no  difficulty  this  time  and  was  soon  in 
the  presence  of  the  Prince.  I told  him  briefly  what  I 
wanted,  and  turning  to  his  desk  and  taking  a card  he 
wrote : 

This  will  introduce  you  to  Captain  Osbon  of  New 
York.  He  desires  to  visit  the  arsenal.  Please  extend  full 
courtesies  to  him.  Wales. 

“ When  would  you  like  to  go  down,  Captain  ? ” he 
asked  as  he  handed  me  my  credentials. 

I replied  that  I thought  of  going  next  morning. 


Meet  the  Prince  of  Wales  103 

“ Very  well,”  he  said,  “ we’ll  try  to  make  things 
pleasant  for  you.” 

I thanked  him  and  retired  then,  and  next  morning 
took  the  train  for  Woolwich.  Arriving  at  the  gates,  I 
was  stopped  by  the  sentinel  as  before,  and  my  busi- 
ness was  demanded.  I said, 

“ I wish  to  see  the  Commandant.  I have  a card  of 
admission  from  the  Prince  of  Wales.” 

The  way  that  guard’s  manner  changed  was  some- 
thing wonderful  to  see.  He  shouted  for  the  corporal 
of  the  guard,  and  the  corporal  of  the  guard  sum- 
moned the  officer  of  the  day.  I wasn’t  kept  waiting  a 
minute. 

The  officer  of  the  day  greeted  me  cordially,  and 
seemed  to  know  that  a Captain  Osbon  was  expected. 
He  presently  turned  me  over  to  another  officer,  who 
took  me  to  the  Commandant’s  office,  where  I was 
received  like  a genuine  personage. 

I was  then  given  every  facility  for  observing  the 
arsenal,  and  accompanied  by  an  officer  spent  a most 
pleasant  and  profitable  day  in  the  place,  lunching  with 
the  Commandant  at  noon.  All  day  I was  treated  with 
such  courtesy  as  might  have  been  shown  to  some  dis- 
tinguished American,  instead  of  an  ordinary  citizen 
of  the  Republic.  When  evening  came,  they  would  not 
permit  me  to  return  to  the  city  for  dinner. 

So  I sat  down  with  the  Commandant  and  his  staff 
to  dinner — a sort  of  family  affair — and  by  and  by  told 
them  some  stories  of  the  Civil  War  during  which,  as 
Farragut’s  signal  officer,  I had  taken  part  in  some 
interesting  events.  We  shall  hear  of  these  later.  I have 
gone  far  ahead  of  my  narrative  to  complete  this  epi- 


104  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

sode — and  I only  hope  the  chapters  ahead  will  prove  as 
interesting  as  my  little  crowd  of  listeners  seemed  to 
find  them  that  night  in  the  Woolwich  Arsenal. 

At  train  time  we  were  all  taken  to  the  station  and 
I found  there  a special  for  the  whole  party,  including 
several  ladies.  Throughout,  I was  paid  the  deference 
and  attention  due  to  a guest  of  the  Prince,  and,  alto- 
gether, it  was  the  greatest  day  I ever  spent  in  Eng- 
land, for  which  I have  always  been  deeply  grateful  to 
my  old  friend,  who  is  now  His  Majesty,  Edward  VII., 
King  of  England. 


XXI 

The  Beginning  of  Civil  War 

THE  year  i860  was  an  eventful  one  for  New 
York  City.  The  entertainment  of  the  Japa- 
nese Legation  and  of  the  Prince  of  Wales 
kept  things  lively  up  till  the  middle  of  October,  and 
then  came  the  last  days  of  the  great  presidential  cam- 
paign which  ended  with  the  election  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln. That  was  a fierce  and  bitter  campaign,  and  when 
Lincoln  was  declared  elected  the  bitterness  and  the 
trouble  were  only  just  begun.  In  the  South,  State  after 
State  adopted  secession  measures,  and  the  retiring  ad- 
ministration of  James  Buchanan,  if  it  did  not  openly 
encourage  the  secession  idea,  at  least  did  not  much 
oppose  the  seizing  of  public  property — forts  and  arma- 
ment throughout  the  Southern  States.  Officers  and 
soldiers  were  permitted  to  resign,  munitions  of  war 
were  left  within  reach  of  the  insurgents.  Everything 
was  done,  it  would  seem,  to  get  matters  well  along  be- 
fore Lincoln  took  his  seat,  to  make  his  position  hard 
and  embarrassing. 

> But  not  all  the  commanders  at  Southern  military 
points  submitted  or  became  party  to  the  secession  move- 
ment. Some  of  them  strengthened  their  positions  in 
preparation  for  the  conflict  which  they  saw  coming. 
Colonel  Gardiner,  who  was  in  command  of  the  de- 
fences at  Charleston  Harbour,  attempted  to  increase  his 
supply  of  ammunition,  and  as  early  as  October,  i860, 

i°5 


106  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

was  removed  by  the  Secretary  of  War,  John  Buchanan 
Floyd,  who  for  more  than  a year  had  been  quietly 
arming  the  South  in  preparation  for  the  coming 
struggle.* 

Major  Robert  Anderson  was  appointed  to  succeed 
Gardiner,  but  being  a man  of  staunch  loyalty  he  im- 
mediately reported  the  condition  of  affairs,  and  urged 
that  Fort  Sumter  and  Castle  Pinckney  be  strongly 
garrisoned,  if  the  Government  meant  to  command  the 
harbour.  General  Scott,  then  Commander  in  Chief  of 
the  United  States  Army,  also  urged  the  matter,  but 
Secretary  Floyd  had  excellent  reasons  for  giving  no 
attention  to  these  pleas.  On  his  own  responsibility, 
therefore,  Major  Anderson  began  to  strengthen  the 
defences  of  the  harbour,  and  when  the  South  Caro- 
lina Ordinance  of  Secession  had  passed,  and  he  knew 
that  commissioners  had  been  appointed  to  proceed  to 
Washington  and  demand  the  surrender  of  the  Charles- 
ton forts,  he  realised  that  with  his  little  body  of  loyal 
men  he  must  at  once  take  up  the  strongest  position  for 
defence.  This  was  Fort  Sumter,  which  he  entered, 
without  instructions,  on  the  evening  of  December 
26th,  i860.  Secretary  Floyd  immediately  ordered  An- 
derson to  explain  his  conduct,  and  the  gallant  Major’s 
reply  was  that  it  was  to  save  the  government  works. 
He  likewise  asked  for  reinforcements  and  supplies, 
and  the  retiring  administration  was  placed  in  the  em- 

* “ During  the  past  year  135,430  muskets  have  been  quietly 
transferred  from  the  Northern  arsenal  at  Springfield  alone  to 
those  of  the  Southern  States.  We  are  much  obliged  to  Secretary 
Floyd  for  the  foresight  he  has  thus  displayed  in  disarming 
the  North  and  equipping  the  South  for  this  emergency.” — Mobile 
Advertiser. 


Beginning  of  Civil  War  107 

barrassing  position  either  of  complying  with  a proper 
and  loyal  request  or  of  openly  abetting  the  secession 
movement.  Days  were  allowed  to  pass  without  ac- 
tion, during  which  the  insurgents  were  busy  obstruct- 
ing the  harbour,  enfilading  all  its  approaches  and  re- 
moving the  lights  and  buoys  essential  to  the  safe  en- 
trance of  relieving  vessels.  It  was  only  after  these 
preparations  were  fairly  complete  that  a vessel,  the 
Star  of  the  West,  was  chartered  by  the  Government  to 
carry  supplies  and  reinforcements  to  Sumter. 

It  is  probable  that  President  Buchanan  was  sincere 
enough  in  this  attempt  at  succour  for  Major  Ander- 
son, but  the  President  was  surrounded  by  disloyal 
men,  and  Jacob  Thompson,  Secretary  of  the  Interior, 
by  his  own  confession  afterward  acknowledged  that 
he  sent  word  to  the  Charleston  authorities  “ that  the 
Star  of  the  West  was  coming  wit|j  reinforcements.” 
She  sailed  on  January  5th,  with  great  and  ostenta- 
tious secrecy,  commanded  by  my  old  friend  John  Mc- 
Gowan, under  whom,  it  will  be  remembered,  I had 
risen  to  the  position  of  chief  mate  on  the  steamship 
Moses  Taylor. 

As  reporter  for  the  World  I was  to  have  gone  with 
the  Star  of  the  West,  holding  nominally  the  position 
of  second  officer,  but  in  the  eager  and  very  manifest 
anxiety  to  get  her  off  secretly  she  sailed  in  broad  day- 
light, several  hours  ahead  of  time,  and  before  I could 
get  my  luggage  to  the  wharf  at  the  foot  of  Warren 
Street.  I do  not  wish  it  understood  that  Captain  Mc- 
Gowan was  ever  for  a single  instant  insincere  in  his 
purpose.  He  was  simply  master  of  the  ship,  acting 
under  orders  from  Washington.  The  vessel  that 


io8  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

night,  down  the  bay,  took  on  two  hundred  and  fifty 
artillerists  and  marines,  with  arms  and  ammunition, 
and  proceeded  on  her  way,  reaching  Charleston  Bar 
before  daylight,  January  9th. 

But  she  never  reached  Fort  Sumter.  Two  miles 
from  that  point  the  first  cannon  shot  of  the  South 
against  the  North  came  ricochetting  across  her  bows 
from  a masked  battery  on  Morris  Island,  three-quar- 
ters of  a mile  away.  The  national  flag  was  flying  at 
her  gaff,  and  Captain  McGowan  immediately  flung 
out  a large  American  ensign  at  her  fore.  This  only 
increased  the  firing.  Morris  Island  thundered  away, 
and  now  and  then  a shot  came  from  Fort  Moultrie. 
Two  steam  tugs  and  an  armed  schooner  put  out  to 
intercept  her.  Being  an  ordinary  paddle-wheel  ocean 
steamer,  without  armament,  she  was  in  no  position  to 
defend  herself,  and  Captain  McGowan,  finding  him- 
self hemmed  in  and  in  imminent  danger,  put  about, 
after  seventeen  shots  had  been  fired  at  him,  and  re- 
turned to  New  York,  where  he  arrived  January  12th. 
It  became  known  later  that  a very  small  quantity  of 
powder  was  in  the  Charleston  forts  at  this  time,  and 
had  Major  Anderson  been  properly  advised  he  would 
have  opened  with  his  powerful  guns  under  cover  of 
which  the  Star  of  the  West  might  have  come  safely 
to  port.  It  was  never  intended  that  she  should  do  so. 
The  expedition  ended  precisely  as  had  been  planned 
by  those  who  cajoled  the  President  and  abetted  seces- 
sion at  Washington.  The  great  Civil  War  had  begun, 
though  it  was  not  until  the  fall  of  Sumter,  three 
months  later,  that  the  Federal  Government  was  will- 
ing to  acknowledge  it. 


XXII 

My  First  Meeting  with  Abraham  Lincoln 

WITH  the  return  of  the  Star  of  the  West, 
excitement  in  the  North  ran  high.  The 
outlook  was  dark  and  people’s  hearts  were 
full  of  foreboding.  In  the  South  preparations  for 
war  went  on  at  a lively  pace.  Soldiers  were  drilling, 
tugs  were  being  converted  into  gunboats,  and  every- 
body expected  to  fight  within  a few  days.  Heavy 
guns  and  mortars  were  conveyed  to  Charleston,  and 
quantities  of  powder.  The  Times  correspondent  at 
that  place  reported  that  487,000  pounds  had  arrived 
within  a few  weeks  after  the  Star  of  the  West  inci- 
dent. The  “ Southern  Congress,”  which  was  con- 
vened at  Montgomery,  was  said  to  be  “ tinkering  with 
the  tariff,”  and  passing  an  unnecessary  law  that 
“ bread-stuffs  and  munitions  of  war  were  to  be  ad- 
mitted free.” 

One  going  over  the  old  files  of  dailies  to-day  can 
but  faintly  imagine  the  excitement  and  intensity  of 
feeling  with  which  these  reports  were  first  read,  now 
more  than  forty-five  years  ago.  Still  the  Administra- 
tion at  the  North  did  nothing,  and  would  do  nothing 
until  the  inauguration  of  Lincoln,  an  event  which  cer- 
tain fire-eating  and  fire-breathing  politicians  had  de- 
clared would  never  take  place. 

It  was  on  February  19th,  1861,  that  Lincoln 

109 


no  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

reached  New  York  on  his  inaugural  journey  from  his 
home  in  Springfield  to  Washington.  He  came  by  the 
way  of  Albany,  Troy,  and  Poughkeepsie,  making 
short  speeches  at  each  stop,  and  was  hailed  by  thou- 
sands of  shouting  people  as  the  Moses  who  was  to 
lead  them  from  the  wilderness  of  obscure  paths  and 
impending  perils.  At  each  place  he  assured  them 
quietly  and  gently  that  he  would  do  what  he  believed 
to  be  right  and  for  the  best,  and  the  impression  that 
he  made  was  deep  and  lasting. 

At  Thirtieth  Street  between  Ninth  and  Tenth  Ave- 
nues, New  York  City,  the  new  Hudson  River  Railway 
Station  was  thrown  open  for  the  first  time  that  day. 
The  engine  of  the  presidential  train  was  decked  as 
gaily  as  a bride,  and  at  three  o’clock,  p.  m.,  it  slowly 
drew  its  precious  freight  through  the  cheering  multi- 
tude to  the  platform.  From  here  the  grand  procession 
to  the  Astor  House  equalled  even  that  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  every  street  being  a mass  of  banners  and  bunt- 
ing and  cheering  throngs.  Whatever  of  disloyalty 
there  was  in  New  York,  and  there  was  plenty  of  it, 
did  not  manifest  itself  on  that  day. 

I saw  Mr.  Lincoln  in  person  at  the  Astor  House 
that  night.  I was  not  detailed  to  interview  him  for 
the  World,  but  went  over  of  my  own  accord. 

I was  ushered  into  his  presence  and  introduced  my- 
self, stating  that  I was  an  old  traveller.  I shall  never 
forget  his  appearance  or  his  position.  He  leaned  his 
right  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  his  face  wore  a 
sad,  care-worn  look,  as  if  he  would  be  glad  to  be  let 
alone.  He  straightened  himself  up  and  asked  me 
where  I had  travelled.  I replied,  “ All  over  the  world 


Meeting  with  Lincoln  1 1 1 

— came  near  getting  to  both  poles  in  one  voyage,” 
adding  that  I had  spent  most  of  my  life  on  the  ocean, 
and  had  now  drifted  into  journalism  for  the  reason 
that  I liked  an  “ all  night  in  ” once  in  a while. 

Tired  as  he  evidently  was,  he  seemed  interested  in 
my  chat,  which  perhaps  was  a change  from  the  political 
and  personal  questions  which  had  been  put  to  him 
throughout  his  travels.  I was  still  telling  him  my  ad- 
ventures when  the  newspaper  men  appeared.  Then 
he  talked  to  them. 

I saw  Mr.  Lincoln  many  times  after  that,  the  first 
being  just  after  the  battle  of  Bull  Run.  He  remem- 
bered me  instantly,  and  asked  some  particulars  about 
an  incident  I had  previously  narrated.  From  that  time 
I counted  him  as  one  of  my  friends,  and  such  he 
proved.  He  was  always  ready  with  an  amusing  tale, 
some  anecdote  to  illustrate  his  point.  Later  in  the  war 
I often  supplied  him  with  news  before  it  came  in  the 
official  way,  but  that  is  looking  too  far  ahead.  It  was 
my  first  talk  with  him  at  the  Astor  House  that  I re- 
member most  vividly.  There  before  me  stood  the  man 
upon  whom  the  fate  of  >a  nation  rested.  There  in  his 
face  was  written  all  the  sad  forecast  and  resolution  of 
the  coming  struggle.  In  a little  speech  made  next  day, 
I think,  he  said : 

“ When  the  time  comes,  I shall  take  the  ground 
that  I think  is  right — right  for  the  North,  for  the 
South,  for  the  East,  for  the  West,  for  the  whole  coun- 
try.” That  was  what  I saw  written  in  his  face — the 
resolve  that,  come  what  would,  misunderstanding, 
bitterness,  and  tragedy,  he  would  take  the  ground  he 
considered  right,  and  he  would  maintain  it  to  the  end. 


XXIII 


I Engage  in  a Second  Attempt  to 
Relieve  Sumter 

THE  successful  inauguration  of  Lincoln  only 
made  more  bitter  the  feeling  of  the  South. 
The  inaugural  address  was  denounced  as  a 
declaration  of  war  by  men  who  had  never  seen  a sin- 
gle word  of  it  in  print.  The  war  element  did  not  want 
to  read  the  message.  They  wanted  only  war. 

On  the  day  of  his  inauguration  a message  came  to 
the  President  from  Major  Anderson  in  which  he 
stated  that  a force  of  20,000  men  would  now  be 
needed  to  relieve  the  fortress  within  the  time  when 
such  relief  would  avail  the  survivors,  whose  stores 
and  ammunition  were  limited.  Lincoln  gave  the  mat- 
ter immediate  consideration,  being  at  first  inclined  to 
abandon  the  fort,  thereby  removing  what  South  Caro- 
lina seemed  to  regard  as  her  chief  excuse  for  rebel- 
lion. This  policy  did,  in  fact,  greatly  disturb  men 
like  Senators  Wigfall  and  Pryor,  who  were  for  war 
at  all  hazards,  and  advocated  a baptism  of  fire  and 
blood. 

But  the  policy  of  withdrawal  would  not  do.  The 
question  was  deeper  than  that,  and  no  temporary  re- 
lief, however  soothingly  applied,  would  result  in  any 
permanent  good.  In  his  inaugural,  the  President  had 
pledged  himself  to  use  the  force  at  his  command  to 
112 


Attempt  to  Relieve  Sumter  113 

hold,  occupy  and  possess  the  forts  and  other  property 
belonging  to  the  United  States,  and  the  only  question 
in  his  mind  became  the  proper  method  of  fulfilling  this 
pledge. 

Major  Anderson  now  regarded  it  as  nearly  impos- 
sible for  any  vessel  to  reach  the  gates  of  Fort  Sumter. 
The  gunners  of  the  opposing  forts  had  the  range,  as 
was  demonstrated  by  an  “ accidental  shot  ” striking 
the  threshold  of  the  Sumter  gate  during  blank  car- 
tridge practice  from  Morris  Island.  Any  ship  could 
certainly  be  destroyed,  either  before  reaching  the  fort, 
or  while  disembarking.  Nevertheless,  Lincoln  was 
determined  to  do  what  he  could.  In  January,  Gus- 
tavus  V.  Fox,  formerly  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  had 
presented  to  President  Buchanan  a plan  for  the  relief 
of  Sumter.  Fox  was  now  summoned  to  detail  his  plan 
to  the  new  President,  which,  in  brief,  was  to  have 
supplies  put  up  in  portable  packages,  loaded  on  a ves- 
sel, to  be  convoyed  by  several  men-of-war  and  three 
fast  tugboats,  which  under  cover  of  darkness  were  to 
run  the  supplies  through  to  the  forts.  Launches  were 
also  to  be  used  for  this  purpose. 

The  plan  with  its  possibilities  of  success  appealed 
to  the  President,  and  Mr.  Fox  was  sent  to  Charleston 
to  visit  Sumter.  He  was  accorded  special  permission 
to  visit  the  fort  by  Governor  Pickens,  and  on  his  re- 
turn reported  that  Major  Anderson  had  supplies  to 
last  until  April  15th,  and  that  any  relief  to  be  of  value 
must  arrive  by  that  date.  The  President  then  ver- 
bally authorised  him  to  prepare  his  expedition,  which 
he  did  with  energy  and  skill,  having  all  ready  for 
departure  by  the  9th  of  April. 


1 14  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

The  Collins  liner,  the  Baltic,  was  selected  as  the 
troop  and  store  ship  of  the  expedition,  which  further 
consisted  of  the  United  States  ships  Powhatan, 
Pawnee,  Pocahontas,  and  the  little  revenue  cutter 
Harriet  Lane  (Captain  John  Faunce)  whom  we  have 
met  before  in  these  chapters,  rendering  special  service 
to  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Besides  these,  there  were  the 
three  swift  tugs  already  mentioned.  I may  say  here 
that  the  expedition,  being  a secret  affair,  did  not  sail 
as  a fleet,  but  each  craft  separately — at  different  hours 
and,  I believe,  from  various  points.  It  was  not  to  as- 
semble until  it  reached  Charleston  Bar.  My  recollec- 
tion is  that  the  Pawnee  and  the  Pocahontas  came  out 
of  the  Chesapeake.  The  Powhatan,  selected  as  the 
flagship,  left  from  some  New  York  anchorage  and 
dropping  down  the  bay,  took  on  Lieutenant  (after- 
wards Admiral)  Porter  and  proceeded  directly  to  Fort 
Pickens,  another  point  threatened  by  the  Confeder- 
ates. The  Baltic  also  left  from  New  York,  as  did  the 
Harriet  Lane,  though  from  different  docks.  Concern- 
ing the  tugs  I do  not  know,  for  I never  saw  them,  and 
knew  nothing  of  them  at  the  time. 

It  was  to  my  old  friend,  Captain  Faunce,  that  I 
applied  for  permission  to  go  in  the  Harriet  Lane. 
Being  merely  a World  reporter,  it  was  necessary  that 
I should  conform  to  the  regulations  in  the  matter  of 
carrying  civilians  on  the  cutter,  so  Captain  Faunce 
obligingly  appointed  me  as  his  clerk  and  signal  officer, 
and  I became  the  only  newspaper  man  in  the  fleet. 

There  had  been  no  announcement  that  our  destina- 
tion was  Fort  Sumter,  but  I believe  the  fact  was 
pretty  generally  understood  by  the  officers — the  crew 


Attempt  to  Relieve  Sumter  115 

remaining  in  entire  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  the 
cruise,  or  of  the  duties  expected  of  them.  Those  on 
the  Harriet  Lane  had  enlisted  only  for  cutter  service, 
usually  easy  work,  seldom  involving  deep-sea  cruising 
or  being  away  from  anchorage  at  night.  Certainly  the 
idea  of  fighting  was  furthest  from  their  thoughts.  I 
may  add  that  the  Lane  took  on  no  extra  stores  or  did 
anything  to  excite  the  suspicion  that  the  vessel  was 
bound  on  an  adventurous  voyage,  except  perhaps  that 
she  loaded  an  unusual  amount  of  coal.  When  we  left 
New  York  Harbour,  on  the  morning  of  the  9th  of 
April,  1861,  not  a soul  on  board  knew  positively 
whither  she  was  bound,  for  she  was  despatched  with 
“ sealed  orders,”  not  to  be  opened  until  twelve  hours 
had  elapsed.  The  only  sailing  orders  given  were  to 
steer  south  until  the  twelve  hours  had  passed,  after 
which  we  should  learn  our  destination. 

We  saw  none  of  our  fleet  at  the  time  of  sailing,  nor 
until  we  were  off  Charleston,  for  that  matter,  though 
of  this  later.  We  steered  south,  according  to  orders, 
heading  straight  for  a storm  then  gathering  off  Hat- 
teras,  that  point  where  the  brave  little  Monitor  and  so 
many  other  good  ships  lie  buried.  Toward  evening, 
when  the  twelve  hours  were  up,  the  official  envelope 
was  opened,  and  all  hands  then  learned  that  we  were 
on  our  way  to  a rendezvous  off  Charleston  Bar,  where 
we  would  meet  other  vessels  and  “ report  to  the  senior 
naval  officer  present  ” for  further  instructions.  Fur- 
thermore, we  were  to  haul  down  the  revenue  cutter 
ensign  and  pennant,  and  hoist  in  their  stead  the  na*- 
tional  ensign  and  navy  pennant,  and  Captain  Faunce 
was  to  announce  to  officers  and  men  that  the  vessel  had 


u6  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

been  transferred  from  the  Treasury  to  the  Navy  De- 
partment, and  would  hereafter  be  subject  to  the  laws 
and  regulations  governing  the  same. 

Captain  Faunce  called  all  hands  aft  and  read  to 
them  his  orders  from  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury. 
The  men  listened  attentively,  but  so  far  as  I could  see, 
their  faces  did  not  bear  evidence  that  they  were  glad 
of  the  change.  They  had  not  been  hired  to  fight,  and 
patriotism  in  the  North  had  not  then  reached  a very 
exalted  pitch.  Besides,  it  was  by  no  means  certain 
that  all  of  these  men  had  made  up  their  minds  as  to 
the  rights  or  wrongs  of  the  Southern  Cause. 

Captain  Faunce,  noting  the  lack  of  enthusiasm 
among  the  men,  explained  to  them  that  in  war  time 
the  laws  specifically  provided  that  all  public  armed 
vessels  were  held  to  be  under  the  control  of  the 
Navy  Department,  and  that  the  orders,  therefore, 
were  just,  and  must  be  obeyed  without  question  or 
murmur. 

At  this,  some  of  the  foremost  spirits  spoke  up,  de- 
claring that  they  had  not  entered  the  Revenue  Cutter 
Service  with  the  intention  or  expectation  of  going  to 
war,  and  vigorously  protested  being  put  under  fire 
against  their  will.  They  had  set  out  on  this  cruise 
under  false  pretences,  supposing  they  were  simply 
shifting  stations,  and  with  no  thought  of  going  to 
battle. 

The  talk  of  these  spokesmen  had  the  effect  of  in- 
citing a number  of  the  crew  to  the  verge  of  downright 
mutiny,  and  for  a moment  or  two  the  situation  looked 
alarming.  Captain  Faunce,  however,  was  very  cool. 
He  reasoned  with  the  men  a little,  and  then  he  said: 


Attempt  to  Relieve  Sumter  n 7 

“ Boys,  this  is  a serious  business.  I want  you  to 
understand  that  you  are  placing  yourselves  in  a very 
dangerous  position.  I appreciate  your  surprise  and 
point  of  view.  Still,  as  your  commanding  officer,  I 
will  say  right  here  and  now  that  every  man  must  do 
his  duty  and  obey  orders  implicitly,  or,  by  God,  he 
will  never  have  a chance  to  see  a gun  fired  in  action! 
My  orders  are  to  take  the  ship  to  Charleston  and  to 
report  to  the  senior  officer,  and  I’m  going  to  do  so  if  I 
have  to  bury  half  of  this  ship’s  company  on  the  way. 
Go  forward,  now,  and  do  your  duty  like  good  Amer- 
icans.” Then,  turning  to  the  boatswain,  “ Pipe  down!  ” 
he  said. 

A good  deal  of  talk  was  indulged  in  by  the  crew 
when  they  reached  their  own  end  of  the  vessel,  but  by 
midnight  all  hands  were  about  their  work  cheerfully, 
and  obeyed  as  promptly  as  if  the  revenue  pennant 
were  still  at  the  masthead. 

We  now  plunged  full  into  the  storm  off  Hatteras. 
The  sea  became  very  heavy  and,  loaded  with  coal  as 
we  were,  we  wallowed  through  the  billows  that  broke 
over  us  continually,  threatening  to  end  our  part  of  the 
expedition  right  there.  At  one  time  it  was  thought 
that  to  ease  the  vessel  we  should  be  obliged  to  throw 
some  of  our  guns  overboard.  But  the  Harriet  Lane 
proved  to  be  an  excellent  sea  boat,  and  on  the  nth 
of  April  we  were  off  Charleston  Bar,  with  all  hands 
eager  to  learn  what  our  real  duties  were  to  be.  If  I 
remember  rightly,  the  Pawnee  was  already  there,  and 
perhaps  the  Baltic  and  Pocahontas.  At  all  events,  we 
arrived  about  the  same  time — all  but  the  three  tugs, 
of  which  we  had  been  deprived  in  the  heavy  storm  off 


1 1 8 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Hatteras.  We  anchored  a little  closer  to  the  Bar  than 
the  others,  and  Captain  Faunce  went  aboard  the 
Pawnee,  the  senior  ship,  to  report  our  arrival,  and  to 
arrange  for  a code  of  signals  which  would  be  unintel- 
ligible to  the  enemy.  The  sea  was  still  heavy,  the  sky 
dark  and  stormy,  and  all  buoys  had  been  removed 
from  the  channels.  It  was  impossible  for  vessels  of 
any  size  to  go  inside  the  Bar,  and  as  our  tugs  still 
failed  to  appear  we  were  at  a loss  what  to  do.  As  we 
lay  there  waiting  and  undetermined,  an  incident  oc- 
curred which  I have  never  seen  recorded,  but  which 
seems  to  me  worthy  of  note.  A vessel  suddenly  ap- 
peared through  the  mist  from  behind  the  Bar,  a pas- 
senger steamer,  which  was  made  out  to  be  the  Nash- 
ville. She  had  no  colours  set,  and  as  she  approached 
the  fleet  she  refused  to  show  them.  Captain  Faunce 
ordered  one  of  the  guns  manned,  and  as  she  came 
still  nearer  turned  to  the  gunner. 

“ Stop  her ! ” he  said,  and  a shot  went  skipping 
across  her  bows. 

Immediately  the  United  States  ensign  went  to  her 
gaff  end,  and  she  was  allowed  to  proceed.  The  Har- 
riet Lane  had  fired  the  first  shotted  gun  of  the  war 
from  the  Union  side.  I may  here  note  that  the  Nash- 
ville was  subsequently  converted  into  a Confederate 
privateer,  to  which  we  shall  have  cause  to  refer  again 
in  these  papers,  and  it  seems  a strange  coincidence 
that  I should  thus  have  seen  the  first  shot  fired  upon 
her,  and  was  to  see  the  last,  which  ten  months  later 
would  send  her  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

Still  at  dusk  on  the  evening  of  the  nth  our  ill- 
fated  tugs  had  not  arrived,  and  without  them  our 


Attempt  to  Relieve  Sumter  1 1 9 

launches  were  of  no  avail.*  Captain  Faunce  looked 
out  over  the  gloomy,  unmarked  channel. 

“ For  God’s  sake,”  he  said,  “ I hope  they  don’t  ex- 
pect us  to  take  these  big  vessels  over  the  Bar.” 

We  knew  that  we  had  been  located  by  the  enemy, 
for  small  craft  had  been  scouting  around  during  the 
evening,  returning  to  the  Confederate  forts.  As  for 
Anderson,  it  was  unlikely  that  he  knew  anything  of 
our  arrival,  or  that  the  enemy  would  give  him  either 
time  or  opportunity  to  acquire  this  knowledge.  Night 
came  down,  dark,  stormy,  and  ominous. 

There  was  no  very  sound  sleep  on  any  of  the  ves- 
sels. I turned  in  about  midnight,  but  I was  restless 
and  wakeful.  At  length  I was  suddenly  startled  from 
a doze  by  a sound  that  not  only  wakened  me,  but 
brought  me  to  my  feet.  It  was  the  boom  of  a gun. 
From  Fort  Johnson  a fiery  shell  had  described  an  arc 
in  the  night  and  dropped  close  to  the  ill-fated  Sumter. 
A moment  later  when  I reached  the  deck,  Morris  Is- 
land had  opened  with  a perfect  roar  of  artillery.  It 
was  now  half-past  four  in  the  morning,  April  12th, 
1861,  and  the  Civil  War,  which  was  to  continue 
through  four  years  of  the  bitterest,  bloodiest  strife 
this  nation  has  ever  seen,  had  begun  in  earnest,  at 
last. 

I shall  never  forget  the  scene  on  board  the  Harriet 
Lane  that  memorable  morning.  The  first  shot  had 
brought  every  man  to  the  deck,  and,  standing  on  the 
wheelhouse  or  any  high  point  for  a better  view,  the 
men  who  but  a day  or  two  before  had  been  ready  to 

* There  were  no  steam  launches  in  those  days.  The  heavily 
laden  boats  would  have  been  towed  to  the  fort  by  the  tugs. 


i2o  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

mutiny  rather  than  go  into  action,  now  screamed  and 
swore  and  raved  and  demanded  that  they  be  led 
against  these  assailants  of  the  old  flag.  Not  one  of 
them  but  would  have  laid  down  his  life  then,  and  it 
seemed  for  a time  that  our  patriotism  would  get  the 
better  of  our  judgment  and  spur  us  to  a useless  sacri- 
fice. We  knew  that  we  could  do  no  good — that  with 
the  heavy  sea  and  unmarked  channels,  and  with  the 
accuracy  of  the  Confederate  gun  fire,  vessels  such  as 
ours  could  never  reach  Sumter.  We  could  only  look 
on,  and  give  vent  to  our  feelings  in  violent  language, 
and  this  we  did  in  a manner  that  I have  never  seen 
equalled. 

Yet  we  did  formulate  a plan  of  relief  when  it  grew 
lighter.  We  found  two  small  ice  schooners  lying  near 
us  off  the  bar.  Our  plan  was  to  seize  these  vessels 
and  use  them  to  tow  in  our  launches,  with  supplies 
and  reinforcements.  It  was  argued  that  as  the  ves- 
sels were  loaded  with  ice  they  would  not  sink,  even 
if  their  hulls  were  riddled  with  shot  from  the  Con- 
federate batteries.  But  with  daylight  the  bombard- 
ment became  so  destructive  that  even  this  last  resort 
was  reluctantly  abandoned. 

I have  never  been  able  either  with  word  or  pen  to 
express  my  feelings  during  that  long,  terrible  bom- 
bardment. The  morning  was  dark  and  lowering. 
Across  the  harbour  the  belching  cannons  told  that  the 
nation  was  rent  asunder.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
end  of  the  world  was  about  due.  When  a little  after 
seven  o’clock  we  saw  that  Major  Anderson  was  an- 
swering his  assailants,  gun  for  gun,  we  broke  at  last 
into  cheers,  though  we  could  not  hope  for  victory,  for 


Attempt  to  Relieve  Sumter  121 

we  knew  that  his  stores  were  about  exhausted  and  that 
his  ammunition  was  low. 

All  day  the  cannons  thundered  through  the  gloom. 
Night  once  more  fell  thick  and  stormy,  and  still  the 
pounding  did  not  cease.  I think  few  on  any  of  our 
vessels  slept,  and  when  morning  came  clear  and  bright, 
it  only  brought  still  heavier  and  fiercer  cannonade, 
with  red-hot  shot  from  Fort  Moultrie,  followed  by 
smoke  and  flames,  and  we  knew  that  Fort  Sumter 
was  on  fire. 

We  expected  Anderson  to  surrender  then.  But  the 
firing  went  on  and  the  Stars  and  Stripes  still  waved 
above  the  doomed  fort.  Then,  in  the  early  afternoon, 
the  old  flag  suddenly  disappeared,  and  we  knew  that  it 
had  been  shot  away.  But  as  suddenly  it  reappeared, 
a little  lower  down,  but  still  waving  above  the  ram- 
parts, and  we  broke  again  and  again  into  wild  cheers.* 
Once  more  our  would-be  mutineers  raved  and  swore 
and  vowed  that  the  day  would  come  when  they  would 
avenge  that  striking  down  of  the  flag.  But  not  long 
after  a silence  fell  upon  the  vessels  of  our  fleet,  for 
there  was  a white  flag  waving  above  the  walls  of 
Sumter. 

We  know,  now,  that  Major  Anderson  never  raised 
that  flag;  that  it  was  hoisted  at  the  request  of  General 
Wigfall,  who  had  come  across  to  the  fort,  pretending 
authority  from  General  Beauregard,  and  that  he  in- 
duced one  of  Major  Anderson’s  officers  to  display  the 
truce  signal  for  the  purpose  of  conference.  We  know 
that  Wigfall  at  first  waved  the  flag  himself  to  try  to  • 

*It  was  hoisted  by  Sergeant  Peter  Hart,  Major  Anderson’s  old 
and  faithful  body-servant. 


122  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

put  a stop  to  the  shots  that  were  falling  about  him, 
much  too  close  for  comfort,  and  that,  when  the  forts 
did  not  at  once  cease  firing,  he  hopped  down,  terribly 
frightened,  and  begged  one  of  Anderson’s  men  to 
wave  the  white  banner,  and  that  this  was  done.  But 
we  did  not  know  the  facts  then,  or  that  Anderson, 
when  he  learned  the  trick  of  it,  indignantly  ordered 
the  white  flag  down.  To  us  it  meant  the  end,  and  we 
were  a sad  company,  especially  as  we  saw  small  boats 
evidently  bearing  officers  of  rank  leave  the  Confed- 
erate batteries  for  the  battered  fort.  We  had  no  means 
of  communicating  with  the  garrison,  and  for  a long 
time  we  were  left  in  suspense  as  to  the  number  of  lives 
lost  and  the  terms  of  surrender. 

But  it  was  all  over  that  evening.  Everything  was 
silent  and  we  had  learned  the  news.  The  fort  had  sur- 
rendered, though  without  loss  of  life,  and  the  gallant 
little  band  had  marched  out  with  colours  flying  and 
drums  beating,  saluting  the  Stars  and  Stripes  with 
fifty  guns. 

On  the  next  day,  Sunday,  April  14th,  Anderson 
and  his  men  were  taken  on  board  the  Baltic,  and  we 
set  out  on  the  return  voyage  to  New  York. 

As  the  expedition  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
at  an  end,  it  was  now  my  duty,  as  a reporter  for  the 
World,  to  be  on  the  ship  with  Major  Anderson.  Cap- 
tain Faunce  kindly  gave  permission  for  my  transfer 
to  the  Baltic,  where  I began  at  once  to  write  the  story 
of  the  fight  from  Major  Anderson’s  own  lips,  continu- 
ing as  he  could  tell  it  to  me,  for  he  was  ill,  exhausted, 
and  sick  at  heart.  Being  the  only  newspaper  man 
with  the  expedition,  I had  a valuable  news  “beat,” 


Attempt  to  Relieve  Sumter  123 

and  I wanted  to  make  the  most  of  it,  you  may  be 
sure. 

Yet  I do  not  think  I would  have  been  able  to  get 
on  such  terms  of  confidence  with  Major  Anderson 
but  for  a lucky  accident.  One  of  his  officers,  Lieuten- 
ant Truman  Seymour,  came  to  me  just  after  leaving 
the  Bar  and  said: 

“ I understand  your  name  is  Osbon.” 

“ Yes,  sir,”  I said,  “ that  is  correct.” 

“ I wonder  if  you  could  be  related  to  Dominie  Os- 
bon,” was  his  next  remark. 

I replied,  “ I am  his  eldest  son.” 

“ Then  you  ought  to  know  me,”  he  said,  “ for  my 
name  is  Truman  Seymour.” 

“ Yes,”  I answered,  “ your  father  was  presiding 
elder  of  the  Troy  Conference.  He  was  one  of  my 
father’s  best  friends.” 

Seymour  was  very  close  to  Major  Anderson  and 
introduced  me  in  a manner  which  made  the  sick  officer 
warm  to  me  at  once.  I was  with  him  almost  con- 
stantly during  the  homeward  trip,  looking  to  his  com- 
fort, often  reading  to  him  from  the  New  York  papers, 
which  he  had  not  seen  for  a long  time.  In  turn  he  told 
me  the  whole  story  of  the  fight,  which  is  now  common 
history  and  need  not  be  set  down  here.  He  told  me 
how  the  white  flag  had  been  raised  without  his  knowl- 
edge, how  when  he  came  up  and  found  it  flying  by 
Wigfall’s  request  he  had  ordered  it  down,  and  had 
been  begged  by  emissaries  then  arriving  from  Beaure- 
gard to  let  it  remain  until  terms  could  be  arranged. 
Major  Anderson  was  a gentle,  brave,  God-fearing 
man,  then  but  fifty-six  years  old,  but  his  spirit  and  his 


124  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

heart  were  broken.  That  he  had  been  first  to  let  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  be  hauled  down  was  a heavy  blow. 
He  had  brought  away  the  torn  and  shattered  banner, 
which  ten  years  later  was  to  become  his  winding  sheet, 
and  from  across  the  tattered  end  he  gave  me  a strip  of 
the  historic  flag,  a piece  of  which  I still  preserve. 


XXIV 

The  Arrival  in  New  York 

OF  course  our  expedition  had  been  a failure, 
and  there  was  a feeling  among  officers  and 
men  that  our  return  would  not  be  a matter 
of  much  honour  and  celebration.  Mr.  Fox  realised 
this,  and,  learning  that  I was  the  only  newspaper  man 
on  board,  came  to  me  before  we  reached  New  York 
and  said: 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  I have  a favour  to  ask  of  you.  You 
are  probably  aware  that  I planned  this  expedition  and 
urged  upon  Mr.  Lincoln  the  importance  of  relieving 
Major  Anderson.  It  has  proven  a failure  from  a va- 
riety of  reasons  over  which  I could  have  no  control, 
and  through  no  fault  of  mine.  Nevertheless,  I shall 
be  singled  out  for  adverse  criticism,  which  will  be  un- 
deserved. I desire  to  avoid  this  as  much  as  possible, 
and  I shall  esteem  it  a special  favour  if  you  will  make 
no  mention  of  my  name  in  connection  with  the  affair, 
or  that  I was  on  board  the  Baltic.  The  matter  has 
ended  unfortunately,  and  I do  not  wish  to  be  asso- 
ciated with  it  any  more  than  necessary.” 

I was  anxious  to  oblige  Mr.  Fox  and  I felt  the 
truth  of  what  he  said.  Indeed  we  were  all  more  or  less 
in  the  same  boat,  so  in  preparing  my  article  I sang  the 
praises  of  Anderson,  Doubleday,  Seymour  and  the 
others  who  had  made  the  gallant  fight  for  the  flag, 

125 


126  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

with  as  little  reference  to  the  expedition  as  possible, 
omitting  the  name  of  Fox  altogether.  We  all  realised 
later  that  this  was  a mistake,  a very  annoying  one  for 
me,  in  after  years;  but  it  seemed  the  proper  thing  to 
do  at  the  time. 

We  were  now  nearing  Sandy  Hook,  and  Major 
Anderson  had  prepared  a report  of  the  Sumter  en- 
gagement, which  was  to  be  given  to  the  telegraph  boat 
as  we  passed  the  Hook.  Besides  being  his  reader,  I 
had  acted  as  his  amanuensis,  writing  letters  to  his  va- 
rious friends  in  New  York.  He  now  handed  the  notes 
of  his  report  to  me,  with  the  request  that  I read  them 
and  suggest  any  additions  that  might  occur  to  me  as 
necessary.  He  was  ill  and  very  weak  at  the  time.  As 
I looked  through  the  matter  my  only  thought  was 
brevity  for  the  sake  of  telegraphic  economy.  The 
report  as  he  had  written  it  was  very  full  and  ac- 
curate, but  contained  about  three  hundred  words. 
My  suggestion  therefore  was  that  it  might  be  con- 
densed. 

“ Yes,”  admitted  Anderson,  “ but  I’m  too  sick  to 
do  it.  You  do  it  for  me.” 

I sat  there  by  him  and  worked  it  down,  sentence  by 
sentence  and  word  by  word.  When  I had  finished  I 
read  it  to  him,  and  he  signed  it  with  full  approval. 
It  contained  less  than  a hundred  and  fifty  words,  and 
when  the  telegraph  boat  came  alongside  it  was  thrown 
to  the  news  messengers  in  a hermetically  sealed  tin 
box,  and  was  soon  on  the  way  to  Washington.  The 
message  as  sent,  and  as  it  stands  in  history  to-day  is 
as  follows: 


Arrival  in  New  York  127 

Y-S-.  Baltic,  off  Sandy  Hook,  Apr.  Eighteenth,  ten-thirty, 

a.  m.,  via  New  York. 

Hon.  S.  Cameron,  Sec’y  War,  Washn. 

Having  defended  Fort  Sumter  for  thirty-four  hours, 
until  the  quarters  were  entirely  burned,  the  main  gates 
destroyed  by  fire,  the  gorge  walls  seriously  injured,  the 
magazine  surrounded  by  flames,  and  its  door  closed  from 
the  effects  of  heat,  four  barrels  and  three  cartridges  of 
powder  only  being  available  and  no  provisions  remaining 
but  pork,  I accepted  terms  of  evacuation  offered  by  Gen- 
eral Beauregard,  being  the  same  offered  by  him  on  the 
nth  inst.,  prior  to  the  commencement  of  hostilities,  and 
marched  out  of  the  fort  Sunday  afternoon  the  14th 
inst.,  with  colours  flying  and  drums  beating,  bring- 
ing away  company  and  private  property,  and  saluting  my 
flag  with  fifty  guns. 

Robert  Anderson, 

Major  First  Artillery,  Commanding. 

I consider  it  one  of  the  greatest  honours  of  my 
life  to  have  been  the  companion  of  Major  Anderson 
during  those  few  days  of  our  return  voyage,  and  to 
have  been  permitted  to  assist  him  in  the  preparation 
of  this  now  historic  message.  I have  known  many 
great  and  noble  men,  but  never  a more  lovable,  unpre- 
tentious soul  than  that  of  Major  Robert  Anderson, 
the  hero  of  Fort  Sumter. 

Arriving  at  New  York,  we  found  to  our  surprise 
that  we  were  all  heroes.  Instead  of  being  under  a 
cloud  because  of  our  failure,  the  members  of  the  ex- 
pedition, next  to  those  of  Sumter  itself,  were  covered 
with  glory,  simply  because  they  had  been  witnesses 
of  that  first  brave  struggle.  The  nation  was  fairly 


128  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

ablaze  with  patriotism,  and  ready  to  welcome  and  cele- 
brate anyone  from  the  front,  especially  when,  as  was 
the  case  with  us,  such  messengers  brought  news.  At 
the  office  of  the  World,  which,  as  you  may  readily 
imagine,  was  triumphant  in  its  great  beat,  I was  the 
one  object  worthy  of  consideration.  When  the  crowd 
poured  in,  Mr.  Bangs  made  me  get  up  on  the  counter 
and  tell  the  story  of  Sumter  to  the  assembled  throng. 
I think  I have  never  seen  a wilder  fever  of  excitement 
than  throbbed  and  billowed  among  those  listening 
men. 

Everywhere  were  boys,  running  and  crying  war 
news.  Everywhere  were  knots  and  groups  of  men 
discussing  the  great  event. 

But  there  was  one  disagreeable  feature  of  our  re- 
turn. Gustavus  Fox  realised  now  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake  by  having  his  name  withheld,  and  in  his 
chagrin  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that  I had  omitted 
the  mention  on  my  own  account.  Naturally  I resented 
this  charge,  and  told 'the  truth.  As  a matter  of  fact, 
neither  the  withholding  of  his  name  nor  the  subse- 
quent controversy  did  him  any  real  harm,  for  his  skill 
in  preparing  the  expedition  and  his  effort  in  doing  the 
best  he  could  were  recognised  in  his  appointment  as 
Assistant  Secretary  of  the  Navy  under  Gideon  Welles. 
But  Mr.  Fox  always  bore  me  ill-will,  and  in  his  posi- 
tion of  brief  authority  the  time  was  to  come  when  he 
could  wipe  out  what  he  perhaps  considered  an  old  and 
bitter  score.  But  that  is  a story  for  another  time. 


XXV 


I Join  the  “Herald”  Staff  and  a Great 
Naval  Expedition 

EVEN  after  Sumter,  the  nation  at  large  did  not 
realise  the  magnitude  of  the  struggle  then  be- 
ginning. President  Lincoln  issued  a call  for 
seventy-five  thousand  men,  and  volunteers  came  in  as 
gaily  as  if  the  invitation  were  for  a festival  parade. 
The  bloodless  affair  at  Charleston  had  somehow  cre- 
ated an  impression  that  subsequent  engagements 
would  be  of  a like  nature,  and  there  was  a general 
feeling  on  both  sides  that  within  a few  brief  weeks 
the  little  “ unpleasantness  ” would  be  arranged,  with 
perhaps  just  enough  excitement  to  stir  young  blood 
without  spilling  it,  and  just  enough  explosion  of 
powder  to  clear  the  air,  once  the  smoke  had  blown 
away. 

But  then,  in  July,  came  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Run, 
and  when  on  the  afternoon  of  that  fatal  day  the  car- 
riage loads  of  spectators  who  had  driven  out  from 
Washington  in  gala  attire  to  witness  a fine  military 
spectacle  came  tearing  back,  pellmell,  in  a wild  stam- 
pede; when  the  Union  forces  flung  away  arms  and 
accoutrements  as  they  fled  in  a mad  panic  of  defeat; 
when  men  by  the  thousand  lay  bleeding  upon  the  field, 
then  at  last  the  nation  realised  that  it  was  plunged 
into  a great  and  terrible  conflict,  the  end  of  which 

129 


£ 


i3°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

no  man  could  foresee.  Armies  were  mustered,  ships 
were  gathered,  and  men  with  graver  faces  enlisted 
for  the  serious  business  of  war.  I may  say  here  that 
I did  not  get  to  Bull  Run  in  time  for  the  battle;  but 
I met  the  crowds  coming  back,  and  I know  they  were 
in  a hurry.  I could  tell  by  their  appearance  and  the 
number  of  valuable  things  they  threw  away. 

I remained  with  the  World  for  several  weeks  after 
the  Sumter  expedition,  but  the  financial  status  of  that 
paper  was  then  unusually  precarious,  and  we  reporters 
were  frequently  suspended  because  of  a lack  of  funds 
with  which  to  pay  our  salaries.  Perhaps  I ought  to 
add  that  I was  at  the  time  receiving  nine  dollars  a 
week,  for  work  which  in  these  days  of  more  liberal 
newspaper  methods  would  warrant  the  payment  of 
anywhere  from  five  to  ten  times  that  amount. 

It  was  during  one  of  my  periodical  retirements  that 
I remembered  how,  after  the  “ Stevens  Battery  ” beat, 
Mr.  Frederick  Hudson,  managing  editor  of  the  Her- 
ald, had  sent  for  me  through  Mr.  Hervey  C.  Calkins  * 
of  the  same  paper.  Calkins  was  now  more  than  ever 
of  the  opinion  that  a man  who  had  been  under  fire  and 
had  a practical  knowledge  of  the  sea  would  be  useful 
on  the  Herald  staff.  I was  received  most  cordially  by 
Mr.  Hudson,  who  promptly  offered  me  the  position 
of  naval  editor  at  a salary  of  twenty-five  dollars  a 
week.  As  this  was  nearly  three  times  what  I was  sup- 
posed to  receive  from  the  World — the  actual  propor- 
tion was  much  larger — I gladly  accepted  the  place. 
I think  I was  the  first  man  to  fill  that  particular  office 

* Afterward  founder  of  the  Homeopathic  Hospital,  New  York 

City. 


Great  Naval  Expedition  131 

on  the  Herald  staff,  and  I found  the  employment  most 
congenial. 

But  as  the  months  passed  and  the  war  excitment 
increased,  with  vaster  naval  preparations,  I began  to 
feel  that  in  some  manner  I must  get  into  more  active 
service.  Old  memories  of  days  in  Chinese  and  Argen- 
tine waters  made  me  very  restless  to  feel  once  more 
the  deck  of  a vessel  rock  to  the  roar  of  cannon,  and 
to  see  the  cutlasses  flash  and  the  shells  burst  through 
the  smoke  of  battle.  One  with  a fondness  for  move- 
ment does  not  find  it  easy  to  forget  these  things,  or 
to  remain  idle,  even  in  old  age. 

I concluded  to  apply  for  a commission  in  the  navy, 
and  went  on  to  Washington  for  that  purpose.  I was 
well  acquainted  with  Gideon  Welles,  Secretary  of  the 
Navy,  and  was  offered  by  him  the  position  of  acting 
master’s  mate.  I thanked  him,  but  suggested  that  as 
I had  been  commander  in  a Navy  and  had  been  in 
action — something  very  few  of  our  officers  could  boast 
in  those  days — I thought  I was  entitled  to  a better 
rating.  Then  I added : 

“ Mr.  Welles,  I should  like  to  carry  on  my  journal- 
istic work.  Suppose  you  give  me  a letter,  so  that  I 
can  serve  in  a naval  staff  capacity  and  at  the  same  time 
act  as  a war  correspondent.” 

The  old  gentleman  thought  it  over  a little,  and  then 
dictated  to  a secretary  a letter  to  this  effect : 

To  All  Commanding  Officers,  U.  S.  Navy: 

Mr.  B.  S.  Osbon,  a correspondent  of  the  New  York 
Herald,  asks  permission  to  accompany  some  of  the 
expeditions  going  South,  and  the  Department  has  no 


132  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

objection  to  his  acting  in  any  staff  capacity  to  which  the 
commanding  officer  may  see  fit  to  appoint  him,  provided 
it  does  not  interfere  with  the  regulations  of  the  Navy. 

Respectfully, 

Gideon  Welles, 

Secretary  U.  S.  Navy. 

A roving  commission  of  this  sort  was  precisely 
what  I wished,  and  armed  with  it  I returned  to  New 
York  and  reported  to  Mr.  Hudson,  who  rejoiced  with 
me  that  we  should  have  a correspondent  right  in  the 
front  of  things,  and  with  sufficient  practical  knowl- 
edge to  know  what  was  going  on.  I would  like  to  say, 
before  going  further,  that  Frederick  Hudson  was  one 
of  the  noblest  gentlemen  and  one  of  the  ablest  news- 
paper men  I have  ever  known. 

The  North  now  began  to  assemble  in  Hampton 
Roads  an  expedition,  consisting  of  a very  large  fleet 
and  a body  of  military,  the  first  object  being  to  strike 
the  South  a hard  blow  at  some  point  where  the  har- 
bour and  surrounding  country  would  make  it  a valu- 
able base  for  operations  by  land  and  sea.  Port  Royal, 
South  Carolina,  offered  the  finest  harbour  below  the 
Chesapeake,  and  was  a station  from  which  pressure 
upon  Savannah  and  Charleston  could  be  brought  to 
bear.  With  the  exception  of  Hatteras  Inlet,  which 
was  too  shallow  for  large  steamers,  the  North  had 
no  coaling  station  south  of  Hampton  Roads,  a very 
necessary  adjunct  in  those  days,  when  vessels  were 
obliged  to  coal  at  frequent  intervals.  Port  Royal  was 
therefore  selected  as  the  fleet’s  first  objective  point, 
though  it  was  a state  secret,  guarded  as  well  as  that 


Great  Naval  Expedition  133 

of  any  important  movement  during  the  war.  There 
was  a general  impression,  which  was  perhaps  officially 
encouraged,  that  Charleston  was  to  be  the  point  of  at- 
tack; but  as  preparations  progressed  the  mystery  be- 
came daily  deeper,  and  public  curiosity  rose  to  a high 
pitch.  Every  day  the  papers  printed  big  headlines 
about  “ The  Great  Naval  Expedition,”  with  surmises 
as  to  its  probable  destination.  Washington  corre- 
spondents were  prodded  to  obtain  facts,  not  for  pub- 
lication but  as  a basis  upon  which  to  arrange  for 
future  news.  It  was  all  of  no  avail.  Commanding 
officers  knew  nothing.  The  President  and  the  Secre- 
tary of  the  Navy  were  dumb. 

One  morning  Mr.  Hudson  said  to  me: 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  I think  you  had  better  run  over  to 
Washington  yourself.  You  have  a practical  idea  of 
such  matters,  and  I should  like  you  to  arrange,  if 
possible,  to  accompany  the  expedition  in  some 
capacity  that  will  give  ms  an  inside  position  on  the 
news.” 

I was  in  Washington  that  evening,  and  at  the  office 
of  Secretary  Welles  bright  and  early  next  morning. 
While  waiting  for  him  in  Chief  Clerk  Faxon’s  room, 
I happened  to  notice  a table  covered  with  charts,  and 
at  a glance  recognised  a Coast  Survey  chart  of  Port 
Royal  Harbour  as  the  document  uppermost  on  the 
pile. 

“ What  is  uppermost  on  the  pile  is  uppermost  in 
their  minds,”  I thought.  “ The  squadron  is  going  to 
Port  Royal.”  The  Secretary  entered  his  office  just 
then,  and  I sent  in  my  card.  I was  promptly  admitted, 
and  after  greetings  I said  to  him,  “ Mr.  Welles,  will 


134  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

you  kindly  give  me  a letter  to  the  commanding  officer 
o£  the  expedition  that  is  going  to  Port  Royal  ? ” 

The  old  gentleman  stared  at  me  in  amazement. 

“ How  did  you  know  we  were  sending  a fleet  to 
Port  Royal?  ” he  demanded.  “ Nobody  but  the  Presi- 
dent, Captain  Dupont,  General  Sherman,  and  myself 
know  that.” 

“ And  me,”  I said. 

“Who  told  you?” 

“ You  did,  Mr.  Secretary,  just  now.” 

He  stared  at  me  for  a moment,  very  sharply. 

“ Well,”  he  said,  “ you  are  a good  guesser,  and  you 
can  go  with  the  fleet.  But  you  know  what  the  viola- 
tion of  the  Fifty-ninth  Article  of  War  means.  If  you 
publish  or  say  anything  concerning  our  plans,  you  will 
be  arrested  and  tried  by  court-martial.  Under  the 
regulations  you  can  be  shot,”  and  he  closed  the  inter- 
view by  giving  me  a letter  to  Captain  Dupont,  who 
had  assembled  the  fleet  and  was  to  be  flag  officer  of 
the  expedition. 

On  my  return  to  New  York  I told  Mr.  Hudson 
that  I knew  where  the  squadron  was  going,  but  that 
I was  under  a solemn  obligation  not  to  divulge  the 
secret.  He  simply  said: 

“ You  will  need  some  money,  Mr.  Osbon.  How 
much  do  you  want  ? ” 

I suggested  that  I go  to  Fortress  Monroe  to  await 
the  time  of  departure.  Whereupon  he  gave  me  the 
necessary  funds,  with  orders  to  draw  as  I wanted 
through  the  Adams  Express  Company. 

It  was  now  October  (1861)  and  the  fleet  and  troops 
were  gathering  rapidly.  The  Wabash,  a fine  steam 


Great  Naval  Expedition  135 

frigate  of  3274  tons  register,  carrying  forty-eight 
guns,  was  to  be  flagship  of  the  expedition  and  her 
commander,  Samuel  Francis  Dupont,  was  an  able 
officer  and  a fine,  good-natured  man,  a courtly  gentle- 
man of  the  old  school.  He  received  me  cordially  on 
my  arrival  at  Hampton  Roads,  and  assigned  me  quar- 
ters on  his  vessel. 

The  South  Atlantic  Squadron,  so-called,  consisted 
of  eighteen  fighting  vessels  * (some  of  them  converted 
merchantmen),  carrying  a total  of  one  hundred  and 
fifty-five  guns,  all,  I believe,  of  the  old  smoothbore 
patterns.  With  colliers  and  transports,  the  fleet  num- 
bered about  fifty  vessels,  the  largest  ever  assembled 
by  the  nation  up  to  that  time.  Certainly  it  made  a most 
imposing  array,  and  the  North  could  well  be  proud  of 
her  “ Great  Expedition  ” as  it  lay  in  Hampton  Roads, 
waiting  for  orders  to  sail. 

The  military  under  General  Thomas  Sherman  con- 
sisted of  some  twelve  thousand  troops,  divided  into 
three  brigades,  commanded  respectively  by  Brigadier 
Generals  Egbert  L.  Viele,  Isaac  J.  Stevens,  and  H.  G. 
Wright.  The  soldiers  were  chiefly  from  the  West, 
and  many  of  them  had  never  seen  a vessel  before. 
They  were  fine,  orderly  fellows,  and  sang  any  num- 
ber of  Methodist  hymns;  but  the  sailors  had  a poor 
opinion  of  them.  When  the  day  came  for  embarka- 
tion, the  landsmen’s  manoeuvres  in  getting  aboard  the 
transports  made  a spectacle  for  gods  and  men.  The 

* The  Wabash,  Susquehanna,  Mohican,  Seminole,  Pawnee, 
Pocahontas,  Unadilla,  Ottawa,  Pembina,  Seneca,  Vandalia,  Isaac 
Smith,  Bienville,  R.  B.  Forbes,  Mercury,  Augusta,  Penguin,  and 
Curlew.  Only  the  Wabash  is  now  in  existence,  serving  as  a 
militia  receiving  ship  at  Boston. 


136  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

tars  viewed  them  with  scorn  and  derision,  and  then 
took  pity  on  them,  taking  their  guns  and  knapsacks, 
and  helping  them  to  clamber  over  the  sides.  When  at 
last  they  were  all  aboard  they  sang  another  round  of 
hymns,  and  the  expedition  was  ready  to  start. 

But  we  did  not  sail  immediately.  There  were  de- 
lays of  one  kind  and  another,  and  a full  week  went  by 
before  we  were  ready  to  weigh  anchor.  Meantime  I 
had  been  transferred.  Captain  Leisgang,  commander 
of  the  troop-ship  Matanzas,  came  aboard  the  Wabash 
one  morning,  announced  the  fact  that  one  of  his  of- 
ficers was  very  ill,  and  asked  to  borrow  a substitute 
from  the  flagship.  Flag  Officer  Dupont  said  that  he 
regretted  very  much  that  he  was  unable  to  grant  the 
request.  Then  Leisgang  saw  me  sitting  at  the  table. 

“ Hello,  Osbon ! ” he  said,  “ why  can’t  you  come 
along  with  me  ? ” 

“ That,”  I replied,  “ remains  for  the\  Flag  Officer 
to  say.” 

“ If  Mr.  Osbon  is  willing  to  go,  he  has  my  per- 
mission,” said  Dupont,  and  I went  on  board  the  Ma- 
tanzas, with  the  understanding  that  I was  to  return  to 
the  Wabash  as  soon  as  we  reached  our  destination. 
On  the  Matanzas  I was  in  the  midst  of  the  Methodist 
contingent,  for  the  troops  (48th  New  York  Volun- 
teers) on  that  vessel  were  commanded  by  one  Colonel 
Perry,  himself  a Methodist  minister,  an  excellent  gen- 
tleman and  a brave  man,  who  had  seen  service  in  the 
Texan  and  Mexican  wars,  and  who  found  it  possible 
to  fight  and  pray  with  equal  ardour. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  Tuesday,  October  29, 
1861,  that  the  South  Atlantic  Squadron  left  Hamp- 


Great  Naval  Expedition  137 

ton  Roads.  A gun  fired  at  daylight  was  the  signal 
for  departure — the  big  Wabash  with  her  forty-eight 
guns  leading  the  way,  the  other  vessels  following  in 
order,  a splendid  spectacle.  Every  paper  in  the  land 
was  filled  with  the  news  of  the  sailing  of  the  great 
expedition  whose  destination  remained  still  unknown 
to  the  anxious  millions  of  the  North. 


XXVI 


I Witness  the  Fall  of  Port  Royal,  and 
am  Among  the  Wounded 

IT  was  fair  weather  when  we  sailed,  but,  as  was 
the  case  with  the  Sumter  expedition,  we  ran  into 
a heavy  gale  below  Hatteras,  which  rapidly  in- 
creased in  fury,  until  by  dusk  on  Friday,  November 
i,  it  was  blowing  a hurricane.  A signal  was  now 
made  from  the  flagship  to  abandon  the  order  of  sail- 
ing, and  for  every  vessel  to  take  care  of  itself,  regard- 
less of  formation.  It  was  a fearful  storm,  one  of  the 
worst  known  on  the  coast  for  years,  and  it  is  a won- 
der we  did  not  lose  half  our  fleet.  Our  poor  lands- 
men were  in  a sad  plight  and  not  one  of  them  ever 
expected  to  see  home  again,  though  most  of  them 
were  too  seasick  to  care.  As  it  was,  the  Isaac  Smith 
was  obliged  to  throw  her  guns  overboard,  and  one 
steamer,  the  Governor,  was  lost,  though  her  battalion 
of  six  hundred  marines,  all  but  seven,  were  saved  by 
the  frigate  Sabine,  under  the  command  of  Captain 
Ringgold. 

By  Sunday,  the  3d,  the  storm  had  abated;  we  now 
opened  our  sealed  orders  and  for  the  first  time  knew 
officially  that  Port  Royal  was  our  destination.  On  the 
next  morning  we  were  off  Port  Royal  Bar  with  about 
half  the  fleet,  and  by  Tuesday  morning  all  but  the  ill- 
fated  Governor  had  reported.  I now  returned  to  the 

138 


Among  the  Wounded  139 

Wabash,  according  to  agreement,  having  been  of  no 
service  on  the  Matanzas,  as  the  second  mate  recovered 
his  health  and  was  on  duty  all  the  way  down. 

We  now  discovered  that  the  Confederates,  as  well 
as  ourselves,  had  in  some  manner  learned  our  destina- 
tion and  were  fully  prepared.  The  two  forts,  Walker 
and  Beauregard,  were  strongly  garrisoned  and  to- 
gether mounted  forty-one  guns,  some  of  them  Eng- 
lish Whitworth  rifled  cannons,  ably  manned.  Also, 
Commodore  Tatnall’s  Mosquito  Fleet  had  hurried 
down  from  Savannah  to  the  support  of  the  forts.  Al- 
together it  looked  as  if  we  were  not  going  to  have 
quite  the  easy  time  we  had  expected. 

On  the  evening  of  the  4th  some  of  the  gunboats 
reconnoitering  exchanged  a few  shots  with  Bay  Point 
(Fort  Walker),  and  on  the  morning  of  the  5th  a slight 
scrimmage  with  Tatnall  occurred,  but  nothing  of  any 
consequence.  It  was  decided  now  to  send  in  the  Mer- 
cury, a small  beam-engine  steamer,  to  draw  the 
fire  of  the  forts,  in  order  that  we  might  calculate  the 
number,  class,  and  calibre  of  the  enemy’s  guns.  I went 
aboard  the  little  vessel,  as  did  Generals  Sherman, 
Stevens,  and  Viele,  and  some  of  the  other  officers. 
There  was  no  reticence  on  the  part  of  the  enemy  as  to 
exposing  their  strength.  They  let  go  at  us  with  a will, 
the  shot  falling  about  us  merrily.  As  each  gun  was 
fired  I called  its  class  and  calibre,  and  General  Sher- 
man, who  stood  near  me,  said: 

“ How  can  you  be  sure  of  the  size  of  those  shot  at 
this  distance  ? ” 

“ I am  not  sure,”  I said,  “ but  I am  used  to  meas- 
uring objects  at  sea  with  my  eye,  and  I judge  the 


i4°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

calibre  from  the  ring  of  smoke  that  forms  the  instant 
the  .gun  is  fired.” 

It  may  interest  the  reader  to  know  that  later,  when 
we  landed,  my  tally  was  found  to  be  correct. 

We  were  under  fire  in  the  little  Mercury  for  the 
better  part  of  an  hour,  and  while  some  of  the  missiles 
passed  uncomfortably  close,  we  came  out  unharmed, 
having  acquired  full  information  as  to  the  enemy’s 
armament ; also,  on  my  part,  some  notes  for  my  paper 
and  some  crude  sketches,  which  I made  for  Harper’s 
Weekly.  We  now  reported  to  the  flagship  and  a gen- 
eral council  of  war  was  held.  A chart  was  spread  upon 
the  table  and  everything  was  prepared  to  call  the  meet- 
ing to  order,  when  I rose  to  leave  the  cabin.  The 
Flag  Officer  checked  me. 

“Where  are  you  going,  Mr.  Osbon?”  he  asked. 

I said,  “ It  has  occurred  to  me  that  this  is  not  the 
place  for  a newspaper  man.” 

He  replied  very  courteously,  “ Pray  be  seated.  You 
are  my  guest.  Besides,  you  have  had  considerable 
naval  experience,  and  we  may  avail  ourselves  of  your 
opinion.” 

The  conference  proceeded,  I remaining  a silent  lis- 
tener until  the  order  of  battle  was  taken  up,  when  I 
suggested  in  an  undertone  to  Captain  John  Rodgers, 
who  sat  beside  me,  that  I thought  the  order  should 
be  reversed. 

“Why  so?”  he  asked. 

“ Because,”  I said,  “ as  planned  now  the  principal 
attack  will  be  made  with  the  ships  coming  down  with 
the  tide,  and  in  event  of  any  machinery  being  disabled 
a vessel  could  not  be  controlled  so  readily  by  the  helm 


Among  the  Wounded  141 

as  if  she  were  heading  the  tide.  In  the  latter  case 
with  the  helm  to  port  the  tide  itself  would  swing  the 
vessel  out  of  the  angle  of  danger.” 

Captain  Rodgers,  through  the  Flag  Officer,  had  me 
explain  my  suggestion  to  the  council.  It  was  adopted 
and  the  battle  line  was  formed  accordingly. 

There  was  a gale  on  the  6th  of  November,  which 
made  it  impossible  to  attack  on  that  day  as  originally 
intended.  But  the  morning  of  the  7th  dawned  fair 
and  lovely,  with  sky  and  water  wonderfully  blue  and 
calm. 

At  nine  o’clock  the  signal  was  made  for  the  ad- 
vance. The  fleet  had  been  arranged  in  two  divisions, 
the  first  comprising  the  Wabash , Susquehanna , Mo- 
hican, Seminole,  Pawnee,  Unadilla,  Ottawa,  Pembina, 
and  the  sloop  Vandalia  in  tow  of  the  Isaac  Smith, 
whose  armament  had  been  thrown  overboard  in  the 
storm.  The  other  division  was  composed  of  the  Bien- 
ville, Seneca,  Curlew,  and  Augusta.  The  Pocahontas, 
R.  B.  Forbes,  Mercury,  and  Penguin  formed  a re- 
serve division.  The  army  transports,  which  were  an- 
chored at  a safe  distance,  were  covered  alow  and  aloft 
with  the  troops,  who  were  enforced  non-combatants, 
though  deeply  interested  as  spectators  in  the  grand 
and  novel  sight  which  they  were  about  to  witness. 
The  other  newspaper  correspondents  were  also  there, 
for  it  was  my  fortune  to  be  the  only  one  that  day  in 
the  line  of  battle. 

We  had  other  spectators.  As  the  residents  of  Wash- 
ington had  driven  out  to  behold  the  spectacle  of  Bull 
Run,  so  now  from  Beaufort,  Charleston,  Savannah, 
and  all  the  country  around,  a crowd  of  excursionists 


H2  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

had  gathered  to  witness  the  destruction  of  the  Yankee 
fleet.  Seven  large  steamers  crowded  with  sightseers 
appeared  around  the  headlands,  one  of  them  flying  the 
English,  and  another  the  French  flag,  showing  that 
consuls  of  these  nations  were  aboard.  They  ranged 
themselves  in  the  wide  blue  amphitheatre,  exactly  as 
if  we  were  giving  an  exhibition  for  their  benefit,  and 
certainly  on  that  perfect  morning  the  Port  Royal  en- 
gagement came  as  near  being  a beautiful  picture  com- 
bat as  can  be  found  in  all  history. 

In  fine  formation,  we  steamed  up  the  channel  at  a 
six-knot  gait — the  beautiful  big  Wabash  with  her 
forty-eight  guns  leading  the  way.  At  exactly  9.26 
an  opening  gun  from  Fort  Walker  was  fired,  and  a 
moment  later  Fort  Beauregard,  on  the  right,  pre- 
sented compliments.  Then  the  Wabash  opened  with 
her  ten-inch  pivots,  and  within  five  minutes  we  let  go 
with  our  broadsides  and  the  entire  fleet  was  in  action. 
Our  sightseers  were  beholding  as  grand  a spectacle 
as  the  world  will  ever  produce. 

As  was  usual  in  those  days,  our  marksmanship  was 
far  superior  to  that  of  the  artillerists  on  shore,  and 
while  most  of  our  shells  landed  fairly  well,  those  of 
the  Confederates  went  whizzing  over  our  heads,  and 
it  was  not  until  we  had  made  it  pretty  uncomfortable 
for  them  that  they  at  last  secured  the  range.  We  had 
begun  firing  at  a distance  of  about  fifteen  hundred 
yards,  and  were  soon  within  eight  hundred — a range 
which  to-day  would  be  absolutely  fatal.  Even  then  it 
was  close  work;  but  we  drew  still  closer  with  each 
turn,  until  we  were  within  six  hundred  yards  and  the 
fire  was  very  hot  and  dangerous  on  both  sides.  Cer- 


Among  the  Wounded  143 

tainly  the  enemy  stood  up  in  a masterly  way,  consid- 
ering that  they  were  novices  in  the  art  of  war. 

Poor  Tatnall’s  little  flotilla,  however,  made  but  a 
feeble  showing.  At  the  opening  of  the  fight  he  be- 
gan popping  away  at  us  from  his  position  at  the  mouth 
of  Skulk  Creek;  but  the  range  was  too  long  and  his 
marksmanship  too  poor  to  cause  much  annoyance.  In 
fact,  I do  not  think  Flag  Officer  Dupont  even  remem- 
bered his  existence  until  I said,  “ Flag  Officer,  that  fel- 
low over  there  is  firing  at  us ; can’t  we  do  something 
for  him?”  But  Commodore  Tatnall  had  already  de- 
cided that  his  Mosquito  Fleet  did  not  belong  in  that 
battle,  and  before  a vessel  could  be  sent  after  him  he 
had  retired  up  Skulk  Creek  to  a place  of  safety. 

A good  deal  has  been  made  of  the  fact  that  Admiral 
Dewey  at  Manila  paused  long  enough  in  the  midst  of 
fighting  to  withdraw  and  let  his  men  have  breakfast; 
but  this  was  not  altogether  a new  idea.  During  the 
second  round  at  Port  Royal  a hawser  got  afoul  of 
our  propeller  and  Flag  Officer  Dupont,  always 
thoughtful,  passed  the  word  to  give  the  men  a quick 
luncheon,  which  they  ate  very  willingly,  though  we 
were  then  under  fire. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  I was  wounded — most 
strangely,  in  the  fact  that  while  my  wound  was  disas- 
trous it  was  wholly  painless.  The  fire  of  the  enemy 
had  become  exceedingly  accurate  and  the  shells  were 
bursting  all  around.  With  the  Flag  Officer  and  his 
staff  I was  standing  on  the  bridge  and  our  group  made 
a pretty  target  for  the  gunners  on  shore.  Dupont  in 
his  polite  manner  said  presently, 

“ Gentlemen,  I would  suggest  that  some  of  you 


H4  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

had  better  leave  the  bridge.  If  our  friends  over  there 
should  drop  a shell  among  us,  we  might  lose  some 
valuable  officers.” 

Being  the  junior  and  inferior  officer  of  the  crowd, 
I retired  at  once  to  the  spar  deck,  where  a shell  came 
through  our  bulwarks  and  gave  me  a severe  shake-up. 
Remembering  the  old  adage  that  lightning  never 
strikes  twice  in  the  same  place,  I went  to  the  shattered 
port  to  look  out  and  to  continue  my  notes  of  the  fight. 
As  I leaned  over,  one  of  our  own  guns  was  fired,  and 
the  gromet — a wadding  of  rope  yarn — blew  back  into 
my  long  whiskers,  and  in  an  instant  my  face  was  in 
flames.  It  took  me  but  a second  to  extinguish  the 
conflagration;  but  it  was  too  late  to  save  even  a re- 
spectable remnant  of  a beard  whose  glory  had  excited 
the  envy  of  even  the  Prince  of  Wales.  I hurried  be- 
low, took  a pair  of  shears  and  trimmed  my  whiskers 
a la  Grant.  When  I returned  to  the  deck  one  of  the 
officers  said  to  me: 

“ Well,  sir,  where  in  the  devil  did  you  come  fromi?  ” 

I saw  in  a moment  that  he  did  not  recognise  me, 
and  I said: 

“ I came  up  from  below,  sir.  My  name  is  Osbon 
of  the  Wabash , sir.” 

The  shells  were  flying  about  pretty  thickly  just  then 
and  it  was  a poor  time  to  discuss  matters,  but  he 
stared  at  me  for  several  seconds  before  he  could  take 
it  in. 

“ In  the  name  of  heaven  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ? ” he  asked. 

“ I have  been  severely  wounded,”  I replied,  “ in  the 
whiskers.” 


Among  the  Wounded  145 

I now  hurried  aloft  and  took  up  a position  on  the 
bunt  of  the  foresail,  where  above  the  smoke  I had  an 
unobstructed  view,  and  from  my  lofty  perch  was  en- 
abled to  report  the  enemy’s  movements  to  the  Flag 
Officer  on  the  bridge.  From  this  point  of  vantage  I 
witnessed  one  of  the  rarest  of  my  experiences  afloat — 
a mighty  duel  between  two  brothers,  Thomas  and 
Percival  Drayton. 

General  Thomas  Drayton  commanded  Fort  Walker 
and  Captain  Percival  Drayton  was  in  command  of 
the  Pocahontas  of  our  fleet.  The  Pocahontas  had 
taken  up  a position  on  the  flank  of  the  fort,  where  a 
thirty-two  pounder  was  making  it  decidedly  uncom- 
fortable for  those  on  board.  The  exchange  of  fire  be- 
tween the  vessel  and  the  fort  was  quick  and  hot,  and  it 
looked  for  a time  as  if  the  Secession  brother  on  shore 
was  going  to  get  the  best  of  it.  Then  point  by  point 
the  little  Pocahontas  worked  herself  around  into  posi- 
tion for  an  enfilading  fire,  and  with  a brilliant  display 
of  marksmanship  dismounted  the  annoying  gun  of  the 
bad  brother  and  drove  him  and  his  men  helter-skelter 
from  their  position.  Up  there  on  the  foresail  where  I 
could  see  it  all,  I whooped  and  cheered  for  Percival 
Drayton,  whom  later  with  Farragut’s  fleet  at  New 
Orleans,  I was  to  know  as  a near  and  dear  friend,  and 
who  to-day  sleeps  in  Trinity  churchyard. 

With  each  circling  of  the  forts  we  drew  in  closer 
and  closer  until  the  distance  was  narrowed  down  to 
four  hundred  yards,  and  the  smaller  guns  poured  in 
upon  the  enemy  a fire  that  it  was  hardly  possible  for 
even  the  oldest  veterans  to  withstand.  Just  at  this 
juncture  I saw  the  little  beam-engine  steamer,  the 


146  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Mercury , slip  into  a shallow  bight  within  two  hundred 
yards  of  Fort  Walker,  and  lying  there  almost  un- 
noticed in  the  smoke,  begin  popping  away  with  her 
thirty-pound  Parrot  gun  at  a big  Whitworth,  which 
was  the  enemy’s  most  dangerous  piece.  She  was  so 
tiny — and  her  captain  had  counted  on  this  fact — that 
either  the  enemy  did  not  see  her,  or  could  not  hit  her 
where  she  lay.  Shot  after  shot  she  sent  at  that  Whit- 
worth, then  all  at  once  her  gunner  got  the  exact  aim 
and  over  went  the  big  gun,  to  be  of  no  more  service 
in  that  action,  whereupon  the  little  Mercury  steamed 
away  like  a victorious  bantam  rooster,  though  not  be- 
fore she  had  observed  from  her  close  range  that  the 
Confederates  were  gathering  their  belongings  in  wild 
haste  and  preparing  to  desert  the  fort.  The  Mercury 
was  the  first  to  note  this,  but  a moment  later  the 
Ottawa  signalled  the  flagship  that  the  enemy  was  evac- 
uating. 

I had  been  so  busy  watching  the  brilliant  exploit 
of  the  Mercury  that  I had  not  observed  what  was 
happening  within  the  fort,  until  I was  hailed  by  an 
officer  from  below  who  asked  me  if  I had  noticed  that 
the  “ Rebs  ” were  “ skedaddling,”  that  being  a favour- 
ite term  for  retreat  in  those  days. 

I took  one  look  and  shouted  back,  “ Yes,  sir,  they 
are  taking  to  the  woods  as  fast  as  their  legs  can  carry 
them.  The  fort  is  ours ! ” 

A moment  later  the  signal  flags  from  the  Wabash 
announced  the  order  “ Cease  Firing,”  and  the  engage- 
ment was  at  an  end.  It  was  five  minutes  of  two  when 
the  last  gun  was  fired.  The  battle  that  gave  us  Port 
Royal  had  lasted  three  and  one-half  hours.  For  miles 


Among  the  Wounded  H7 

around  the  blue  water  was  dotted  with  wooden  shell- 
cases,  a record  of  the  thousands  of  shots  fired. 

A whaleboat  was  now  launched  from  the  Wabash, 
and  Commander  John  Rodgers  was  sent  to  Fort 
Walker  to  demand  the  surrender  of  the  works.  I ac- 
companied him,  and  as  the  boat  touched  the  gravelly 
beach  the  men  jumped  out,  and  taking  Captain  Rod- 
gers and  myself  on  their  shoulders  landed  us  dryshod 
on  the  soil  of  South  Carolina.  We  hurried  forward, 
Rodgers  with  a Union  flag  under  his  arm,  the  boat’s 
crew  following. 

When  we  climbed  over  the  works  we  found  no  one 
there  to  surrender  them.  The  ground  was  strewn 
with  belongings  of  every  description,  but  the  place 
was  deserted.  In  another  minute  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
were  flying  above  Fort  Walker,  and  for  miles  around 
the  air  was  rent  with  cheers  of  the  soldiers  and  sailors 
of  the  combined  fleets.  The  boys  on  the  transports 
were  glad  they  had  come,  now.  I did  not  see  it,  for  I 
was  not  close  enough,  but  I was  told  they  acted  like 
mad.  Some  clapped  their  hands  and  shouted  “ Glory ! ” 
— some  danced  and  kept  on  dancing  as  if  they  would 
never  stop,  and  nearly  all  of  them  broke  out  into 
Methodist  hymns.  As  for  the  excursionists,  they  had 
sailed  away  as  fast  as  possible,  perhaps  fearing,  like 
our  own  spectators  at  Bull  Run,  that  they  would  all 
be  captured  and  shot  at  sunrise. 

The  troop  ships  now  weighed  anchor,  and  coming 
up  the  harbour  began  their  work  of  disembarkation, 
which  continued  until  the  last  man  was  on  Carolina 
soil,  all  eager  for  a view  of  the  works,  every  man  anx- 
ious for  some  trophy  of  the  victory.  There  were  plenty 


148  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

of  these,  for,  as  our  defeated  troops  had  scattered  their 
accoutrements  at  Bull  Run,  so  those  who  had  fled 
from  Port  Royal  had  strewn  their  belongings  over  the 
meadows,  and  among  them,  curiously  enough,  were 
some  of  the  same  knapsacks  that  our  boys  had  lost  at 
the  Bull  Run  disaster.  Among  other  things  I found 
an  opera  glass  which  had  belonged  to  Thomas  Dray- 
ton, and  which  I afterwards  presented  to  his  brother 
Percival.  Captain  Rodgers  found  a beautiful  Damas- 
cus sword,  evidently  an  heirloom,  its  hilt  studded  with 
diamonds.  The  officer  must  have  been  in  a great  hurry 
who  left  that  behind.  I suppose  it  got  between  his 
legs  and  annoyed  him  as  he  ran. 

We  took  possession  of  Fort  Beauregard  next  morn- 
ing (November  8),  it  having  been  likewise  aban- 
doned, though  somewhat  less  hastily.  I went  over 
with  Captain  Ammen  of  the  Seneca,  and  we  hoisted 
a Union  flag  above  a building  that  had  been  used  as 
headquarters.  We  then  went  over  to  the  camp  half  a 
mile  from  the  fort,  and  returning  heard  an  explosion 
which  proved  to  be  from  a mine  under  the  head- 
quarters building.  One  of  our  sailors  had  stumbled 
over  a wire  attached  to  a primer  and  fired  the  gun- 
powder left  for  the  purpose  of  blowing  us  up  when 
we  took  possession.  The  unlucky  cause  of  the  disaster 
was  blown  some  distance  and  considerably  stunned, 
but  was  otherwise  unhurt.  We  were  all  of  us  very 
careful  to  look  for  wires  after  this  incident. 

The  casualties  on  both  sides  at  Port  Royal  were 
very  small,  considering  the  amount  of  ammunition 
expended  and  the  close  ranges.  W e lost  no  vessels  and 
in  our  entire  fleet  but  eight  men  were  killed  and  twen- 


Among  the  Wounded  149 

ty-three  wounded.  The  Confederate  losses  were  eleven 
killed,  forty-eight  wounded,  four  missing.  Among 
other  things,  the  fight  demonstrated  that  the  old 
theory  of  one  gun  in  a fort  is  worth  five  on  board 
ship  was  a false  proposition.  To  be  sure,  the  sea  was 
smooth  and  we  had  more  experienced  gunners,  so  per- 
haps a conclusion  drawn  entirely  from  the  Port  Royal 
engagement  would  be  equally  erroneous.  We  were 
also  ably  commanded.  Flag  Officer  Dupont,  one  of 
the  old-time,  polished  naval  officers,  was  a splendid 
seaman  and  an  up-to-date  fighter,  admired  alike  by 
officers  and  men.  In  battle  he  was  as  cool  and  clear- 
sighted as  anyone  I ever  saw  under  fire.  Yet  at  Port 
Royal  he  was  for  the  first  time  called  upon  to  direct 
an  engagement  of  magnitude  and  importance.  And 
such  it  was,  for,  small  as  had  been  the  loss  of  life,  an 
action  between  eighteen  vessels  and  two  well-armed 
forts,  not  to  mention  Commodore  Tatnall’s  Mosquito 
Fleet,  was,  in  those  days  at  least,  a battle  of  no  small 
proportions,  while  the  result  gave  us  what  was  prob- 
ably the  most  important  naval  station  of  the  Civil 
War.  To-day  our  poorest  vessel  could  destroy  such 
works  in  less  time  than  I have  taken  to  tell  this  story. 
It  would  begin  firing  at  a range  of  four  miles,  and  by 
the  time  it  was  within  hailing  distance,  forts,  enemy, 
and  guns  would  be  out  of  action.  But  this  is  an  un- 
profitable conclusion,  for  to-day  there  would  also  be 
better  fortifications,  with  better  guns. 


XXVII 


I Undertake  a Secret  Mission  for 
Secretary  Welles 

I HAVE  now  reached  an  incident  which  I have 
never  until  this  time  considered  it  proper  to  re- 
late. The  story  can  do  no  harm  now” — the  inter- 
national distrust  of  those  days  is  dead,  as  is,  I believe, 
every  man  in  any  way  concerned  in  the  matter,  except 
myself. 

I returned  from  Port  Royal  on  the  Bienville.  My 
story  of  the  battle  was  regarded  as  a beat  by  the  Her- 
ald. Set  in  small  solid  type  it  filled  two  pages.  My 
sketches  for  Harper’s  Weekly  also  were  well  received 
and  prominently  displayed,  covering  four  pages  of  the 
issue  of  November  30.  At  Washington  I was  wel- 
comed by  Secretary  Welles,  who  had  not  forgotten 
my  discovery  of  the  fleet’s  destination,  as  you  will  see. 

There  was  a good  deal  of  bitterness  between  Eng- 
land and  the  Northern  States  at  this  time,  and  the 
Government  at  Washington  was  deeply  interested  in 
the  despatches  forwarded  by  the  British  Minister  to 
his  Home  Government.  It  was  known  that  England 
was  friendly  to  the  Confederacy  and  willing  to  aid  it 
secretly,  if  not  by  open  recognition.  Under  such  con- 
ditions, it  became  necessary  to  know  as  much  as 
possible  of  what  was  passing  to  and  fro  between  Wash- 
ington and  London  in  the  form  of  cryptograms;  and 

150 


A Secret  Mission  151 

while  most  of  this  matter  went  by  messenger  or  mail 
to  New  York,  there  were  many  cipher  telegrams  sent 
at  the  last  moment  to  catch  the  outgoing  steamer, 
there  being  no  ocean  cable  at  that  time.  At  the  tele- 
graph office  all  such  messages  were  subjected  to  ex- 
amination and  copies  of  them  were  made.  After  a 
brief  conversation  with  Secretary  Welles,  the  old  gen- 
tleman brought  out  one  of  these  cipher  copies  and 
placing  it  in  my  hands  said : 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  you  have  a way  of  finding  out  secrets. 
Do  you  think  you  can  solve  that?  If  you  can,  it  will 
be  worth  five  thousand  dollars  to  you.” 

I did  not  know  even  the  nature  of  the  paper  at  the 
time,  but  I saw  that  it  was  a cipher  made  up  partly 
of  words  and  partly  of  a combination  of  numerals, 
usually  in  groups  of  four  figures.  Something  about  it 
suggested  to  me  a naval  signal  book,  and  the  thought 
occurred  that  perhaps  if  we  had  a copy  of  that  used  by 
the  British  service  we  might  unravel  the  mystery.  I 
studied  the  paper  for  some  time,  and  the  more  I con- 
sidered the  matter,  the  more  certain  I became  that  the 
British  naval  signal  book  would  furnish  the  key.  I 
finally  informed  Mr.  Welles  that  I believed  I could 
work  the  matter  out,  but  that  I would  need  several 
days’  leave  from  my  paper;  also  perfect  copies  of  the 
ciphers.  The  former  I obtained  without  difficulty,  and 
the  latter  were  promptly  supplied.  With  them  in  an 
inner  pocket  I left  that  night  for  Boston,  where  a 
British  man-of-war  was  lying.  It  was  my  purpose  to 
secure  her  signal  book  at  whatever  hazard  and  by 
whatever  means,  for  in  such  cases  the  old  adage  of 
“ All  is  fair  in  love  and  war  ” holds  true. 


1 52  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

What  I had  undertaken  to  do  was  a risky  business. 
The  two  nations  were  at  peace,  outwardly  at  least, 
and  if  my  attempt  were  detected  I could  expect  neither 
mercy  from  one  side  nor  succour  from  the  other.  I 
think,  however,  I gave  this  phase  of  the  matter  but 
slight  consideration.  My  chief  thought  was  of  the  sig- 
nal book,  and  how  to  get  it. 

Arriving  at  Boston,  I promptly  used  my  naval  ac- 
quaintance to  get  introductions  to  the  officers  in  Her 
Majesty’s  service,  and  by  a diplomatic  course  of  win- 
ing and  dining  presently  made  myself  a welcome  vis- 
itor on  Her  Majesty’s  vessel.  Indeed,  I soon  became 
a favourite  with  all  on  board,  especially  with  the  sig- 
nal officer,  to  whom  I told  my  best  yarns,  often  in- 
viting him  to  a dinner  ashore  to  hear  them.  Of  course, 
this  resulted  in  return  invitations,  and  sometimes  it 
happened  that  when  I wished  to  brush  my  hair  or 
otherwise  attend  to  my  toilet  I was  invited  to  make 
use  of  his  room  for  that  purpose. 

It  was  but  a brief  time  before  I had  located  the 
coveted  signal  book — a tidily  bound  volume  with 
leaden  plates  riveted  to  the  corners,  so  that  in  event 
of  capture  it  could  be  handily  dropped  overboard  and 
lost.  The  whole  was  encased  in  a canvas  bag,  sus- 
pended by  a shoulder-strap.  During  my  next  visit  I 
had  sufficient  opportunity  to  examine  the  book  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  found  to  my  delight  that  it  did,  in 
reality,  furnish  the  key  I wanted.  I had  memorised  a 
few  of  the  cryptographic  words,  and  with  the  book 
before  me  and  the  signal  officer  at  muster  on  deck  I 
verified  my  conclusions.  The  next  thing  in  order  was 
to  secure  this  priceless  volume.  I reasoned  that  as 


A Secret  Mission  153 

there  were  no  other  English  vessels  nearby,  it  might 
be  weeks  before  the  book  would  be  needed,  and  that 
if  I could  remove  the  contents  from  the  covers,  sub- 
stituting them  with  leaves  of  the  same  bulk  and  ap- 
pearance, there  would  be  a good  chance  not  only  to 
get  safely  clear  of  the  vessel,  but  for  a considerable 
period  to  elapse  before  the  loss  was  discovered,  by 
which  time  it  would  be  by  no  means  certain  when  the 
abstraction  had  occurred. 

I therefore  took  careful  measurements,  and  the  next 
time  I boarded  the  ship  my  dummy  book  was  with 
me — a copy  of  Ray’s  Arithmetic,  if  I remember  cor- 
rectly— picked  up  on  a secondhand  stall.  That  was  a 
foggy  night,  and  I lingered  late.  When  I mentioned 
going  ashore,  my  friend,  the  signal  officer,  protested, 
and  offered  me  the  use  of  his  room.  I had  hardly 
dared  hope  for  this  stroke  of  fortune. 

I had  plenty  of  time  that  night  to  do  the  job  in  a 
neat  and  workmanlike  manner.  I was  really  proud  of 
the  resemblance  the  Ray’s  Arithmetic  bore  to  the  sig- 
nal book  when  it  was  properly  in  its  neat  covers  and 
riveted  leaden  plates.  Then,  after  carefully ^ adjust- 
ing my  prize  to  its  new  dress,  I lay  down  and  slept 
the  sleep  that  comes  of  well-doing  and  a clear  con- 
science. 

I did  not  hurry  away  next  morning — that  would 
not  do.  I even  lingered  a little,  and  finally  bade  them 
all  good-bye,  with  a good  deal  of  regret  I must  own, 
for  they  were  jolly  fellows. 

Arriving  on  shore,  I lost  no  time  in  getting  a train 
for  the  Capital,  and  once  aboard  the  strain  told  on 
me,  for  I had  been  keyed  to  a pretty  high  pitch  dur- 


154  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

ing  those  days  in  Boston,  and  I dozed  and  slept  most 
of  the  day  and  all  that  night  without  a break. 

But  I was  at  the  Department  next  morning,  bright 
and  early,  and  when  the  Secretary  had  glanced  over 
his  mail  he  sent  for  me  to  come  to  his  private  office. 

“ Well,  Mr.  Osbon,”  he  said,  “ you  have  made  a 
long  stay.  Have  you  been  able  to  read  those  telegrams 
yet?” 

I drew  up  a chair  beside  him,  and  pulling  out  a 
cipher  of  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  words,  read  to 
him  a well  connected,  perfectly  intelligible,  highly  in- 
teresting and  important  communication  from  the  Brit- 
ish Minister  to  the  Home  Secretary.  I followed  this 
with  three  or  four  other  messages  of  a like  tenor. 
Secretary  Welles  for  a moment  said  nothing  at  all, 
but  I could  see  that  he  was  amazed.  Presently  he 
seized  my  hand  and  said. 

“ Where  in  heaven’s  name  did  you  get  the  key  ? 
Tell  me  all  about  it.” 

“ Mr.  Welles,”  I said,  “ I think  it  is  as  well  for  the 
present  that  you  should  not  know.  Some  trouble  may 
come  out  of  it,  and  it  is  better  that  you,  as  a govern- 
ment official,  should  be  in  a position  to  know  nothing.” 

The  Secretary  agreed  to  this  readily  enough,  and  I 
went  away  with  a bundle  of  the  Minister’s  messages, 
all  of  which  I translated  in  due  season.  Somewhat 
later  I placed  the  signal  book  itself  in  the  Secretary’s 
hands.  He  had  promised  me  five  thousand  dollars  for 
the  solution,  to  say  nothing  of  the  key  itself.  No  word 
of  the  payment  had  been  mentioned  since  my  return, 
and  I was  to  have  a little  joke  at  his  expense. 

“ Mr.  Secretary,”  I said,  “ I was  to  have  five  thou- 


A Secret  Mission  155 

sand  dollars  to  decipher  those  telegrams — and  no  men- 
tion was  made  of  the  key  in  our  bargain.  I suppose 
that  will  be  extra.” 

He  laughed  and  said,  “ You  are  right.  Name  your 
price,  and  we’ll  see  if  it  is  fair.” 

“ Mr.  Welles,”  I said,  “ I do  not  want  any  compen- 
sation whatever  for  a job  like  that.  What  I did  was 
for  the  sake  of  the  nation.  Nothing  else  could  justify 
it.  All  I ask  of  this  Government  is  that  they  stand  at 
my  back  and  save  my  neck,  in  case  of  trouble.” 

But  trouble  never  came.  It  is  more  than  likely  that 
the  loss  of  the  signal  book  was  not  discovered  by  the 
English  officer  for  months,  and  then  in  some  foreign 
port.  I have  no  idea  that  I was  ever  connected  with 
the  matter,  or  that  anybody  on  the  vessel,  except  the 
signal  officer,  ever  knew  that  the  book  had  been  taken. 
It  is  easy  to  imagine  that  he  would  not  care  to  confess 
his  loss,  and  that  he  might  make  it  convenient  to 
stumble  near  the  rail,  and  so  by  “ accident  ” let  the 
little  tidily-bound,  lead-covered  Ray’s  Arithmetic  slip 
into  the  ocean  that  holds  so  many  secrets  in  its  fathom- 
less bosom.  My  conscience  has  never  troubled  me  for 
the  part  I played,  for,  as  I have  said,  it  was  not  for 
gain  but  to  outwit  a secret  enemy,  and  for  a nation 
which  I had  been  always  eager  to  serve,  and  was  still 
to  serve  to  the  best  of  my  limited  ability,  as  we 
shall  see. 


XXVIII 

Some  Journalistic  Adventures 

IT  was  during  November,  1861,  that  I made  a 
journalistic  attempt  which  resulted  somewhat 
less  gloriously  than  those  undertaken  hitherto. 
On  the  7th,  the  day  of  our  bombardment  of  Port 
Royal,  James  M.  Mason,  of  Virginia,  and  John  Sli- 
dell, of  Louisiana,  Confederate  envoys  to  Great  Britain 
and  France,  embarked  on  the  English  mail  steamer 
Trent,  at  Havana.  On  the  next  day  the  United  States 
steamship  San  Jacinto,  Captain  Wilkes,  overhauled 
the  Trent  in  the  Bahama  channel  and  forcibly  re- 
moved Mason  and  Slidell  as  prisoners  of  war.  The 
affair  being  immediately  reported  on  both  sides  of  the 
water,  great  excitement  ensued.  The  feeling  between 
England  and  America  became  more  bitter.  England 
made  many  stormy  threats,  though  Captain  Wilkes 
had  only  followed  a British  precedent,  exactly  as  laid 
down.  The  final  result  was  an  adjustment  of  rights 
and  privileges  between  the  two  nations,  and  a better 
understanding  all  around,  but  as  this  is  everybody’s 
history  I need  not  continue  the  general  details. 

My  chief  interest  in  the  matter  was  to  make  news 
of  it  for  my  paper.  The  San  Jacinto,  with  the  pris- 
oners, was  on  the  way  to  Fort  Warren,  in  Boston 
Harbour,  and  it  was  Mr.  Hudson’s  request  that  I 

156 


Some  Journalistic  Adventures  1 57 

meet  the  vessel  and  interview  Captain  Wilkes.  Also, 
if  possible,  Messrs.  Mason  and  Slidell. 

Now  there  were  strict  orders  that  no  correspondent 
should  enter  Fort  Warren,  and  I knew  the  chances 
were  against  my  success.  Nevertheless  I proceeded  to 
Boston,  and  asked  Captain  William  L.  Hudson,  Com- 
mandant of  the  navy  yard,  to  give  me  a letter  of 
introduction  to  Captain  Wilkes,  whom  he  knew.  This 
he  did  willingly  enough,  and  armed  with  the  official 
looking  envelope,  I boldly  proceeded  to  Fort  Warren 
and  announced  that  I had  a letter  for  Captain  Wilkes 
to  be  delivered  on  arrival,  leaving  them  to  infer,  if 
they  wished  to  do  so,  that  it  was  as  official  as  it  out- 
wardly appeared.  My  mission  was  harmless  enough 
and  I had  told  no  untruth,  but  I must  admit  that  to 
some  extent  I had  concealed  the  truth,  and  I suppose 
I was  punished  accordingly. 

No  one  in  Fort  Warren  suspected  my  errand  there, 
or  anything  out  of  the  way,  and  for  a few  days  I was 
an  honoured  guest.  But  then,  all  of  a sudden,  there 
appeared  a sergeant  of  artillery  who  had  met  me  at 
Fortress  Monroe.  He  was  a pleasant  fellow  and  very 
kindly  remembered  me.  He  said  nothing  to  me  of  my 
vocation,  but  I knew  he  remembered  that,  too.  I knew 
that  he  guessed  my  errand  in  Fort  Warren,  and  that 
he  would  do  his  duty  in  reporting  the  matter  to  the 
commandant,  who  would  likewise  do  his  duty  in  de- 
taining me  indefinitely  when  I got  ready  to  go.  It  was 
a pleasant  place,  but  I did  not  wish  to  remain  there 
permanently.  I wanted  to  go  away  from  it.  I had 
lost  interest-  in  Mason  and  Slidell  and  I wanted  to  go 
now,  immediately,  before  the  San  Jacinto  arrived.  The 


158  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

officers  themselves  gave  me  no  hint  of  coming  trou- 
ble, but  one  of  their  servants,  a friendly  fellow,  very 
quietly  told  me  what  would  happen.  They  were  in  no 
hurry  to  take  me  in  charge.  Fort  Warren  being  lo- 
cated on  an  island,  with  plenty  of  guards,  it  was  not 
thought  probable  that  I could  reach  the  mainland. 

Yet  this  was  what  I decided  to  do.  The  morning 
after  my  interview  with  the  kindly  disposed  servant 
I went  for  a walk  on  the  beach.  It  was  blowing  a 
living  gale  of  wind,  and  nobody  but  a fool  or  a sailor 
would  attempt  to  cross  the  harbour  in  a small  boat  on 
such  a day.  To  me,  however,  the  only  difficulty  was  in 
being  permitted  to  try.  A little  dory  was  lying  on  the 
beach,  and  I asked  the  sentinel  who  was  parading  up 
and  down  if  he  objected  to  my  taking  a little  pull  to 
stretch  my  arms.  He  did  not  object,  but  he  thought 
I would  soon  get  my  fill  of  it.  I carried  an  umbrella, 
as  it  had  been  showery,  and  with  this  I got  into  the 
boat.  Then  I pulled  up  and  down  a few  times  in  the 
rough  water,  edging  out  farther  with  each  tack,  until 
finally,  when  I thought  it  the  proper  moment,  I 
squared  away,  hoisted  my  umbrella  as  a sail,  and  with 
an  oar  for  a rudder  bade  Fort  Warren  good-bye. 

The  sentinel,  seeing  this,  evidently  suspected  that 
something  was  wrong,  and  must  immediately  have 
passed  the  word  to  the  officers,  who  doubtless  returned 
orders  to  fire,  for  in  a minute  or  two  he  levelled  his 
musket,  and  a bullet  struck  the  water,  though  some 
distance  away.  I decided  that  he  was  a poor  shot  and 
that  I would  go  on.  Besides,  I had  always  been  bullet- 
proof and  had  faith  in  my  lucky  star.  The  only  ques- 
tion was  whether  I could  pull  faster  than  the  umbrella 


Some  Journalistic  Adventures  1 59 

would  propel  me.  I concluded  to  stick  to  the  umbrella, 
for  the  wind  was  very  strong  out  there  and  I was 
making  good  headway. 

Meantime  the  sentinel  had  been  joined  by  several 
companions-in-arms,  and  they  now  let  loose  a volley 
at  me,  then  another  and  another.  But  perhaps  they 
were  recruits,  for  their  aim  was  poor  and  by  this 
time  the  range  was  long.  The  little  dory  fairly 
skimmed  the  waves,  and  more  than  half  the  time  there 
were  great  billows  between  me  and  the  shore,  and  it 
may  be  that  these  kept  some  of  the  balls  from  hitting 
me.  At  all  events,  the  firing  presently  ceased  and  I 
made  the  passage  across  without  further  interference, 
folded  my  faithful  umbrella,  left  the  dory  at  the  navy 
yard,  and  took  the  first  train  for  New  York,  where, 
with  a good  deal  of  humiliation,  I confessed  to  Mr. 
Hudson  that  Mason  and  Slidell  would  have  to  be  re- 
ceived at  Fort  Warren  without  my  assistance. 

I was  to  have  better  success  with  my  next  adventur- 
ous attempt.  The  Confederates,  who  were  still  in  pos- 
session of  Norfolk,  had  raised  a sunken  vessel,  the 
Merrimac,  at  the  Gosport  Navy  yard,  and  converted 
her  into  the  ironclad  which  later  was  to  become  such 
a terror  to  our  navy  at  Hampton  Roads.  Reports  of 
the  construction  of  this  vessel  had  come  to  the  North, 
and  there  was  a great  desire  on  the  part  of  everybody 
to  know  something  of  her  plan  and  appearance.  I was 
perfectly  familiar  with  all  the  waters  of  Hampton 
Roads,  and  went  down  to  Fortress  Monroe  to  see  what 
could  be  done  in  the  matter.  Arriving  there,  I decided 
I would  have  a look  at  the  Merrimac  on  my  own  ac- 
count, even  at  the  risk  of  a punctured  skin. 


i6o  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

I therefore  wrote  to  Mr.  Hudson  my  plan,  asking 
him  to  send  me  down  a sixteen-foot  Hell  Gate  pilot- 
boat,  such  as  was  used  for  boarding  vessels  in  Long 
Island  Sound.  Mr.  Hudson  was  a man  of  prompt  ac- 
tion. The  boat  came  almost  immediately,  and  one 
night  when  a light  fog  lay  on  the  river  I made  up  my 
mind  to  undertake  the  job  planned. 

I prepared  for  the  occasion  by  covering  my  thole- 
pins with  sheepskin  in  order  to  make  no  noise  with 
my  oars.  Then  with  a compass  and  a lead  line  in  the 
boat  I pulled  softly  across  past  the  Sewell  Point  bat- 
teries, which  would  have  given  me  a lively  time  had 
they  seen  me,  up  around  Crainey  Island; — on  up  the 
Elizabeth  River  to  the  Gosport  Yard,  where  the  Mer- 
rimac  lay.  I expected  to  have  to  get  very  close  to  the 
vessel  before  I could  get  a look  at  her,  but  the  fog 
had  lightened  a good  deal  by  the  time  I was  in  her 
neighbourhood  and  the  night  was  not  dark.  When 
within  a hundred  yards  of  her  I had  an  excellent  view 
of  the  monster  which  was  so  soon  to  descend  upon  our 
fleet  of  wooden  vessels  then  lying  in  Hampton  Roads. 

I fixed  her  outlines  and  proportions  in  my  mind  and 
returning  undiscovered  wrote  a description  of  her  for 
the  Herald,  and  made  a sketch  for  Harper’s  Weekly. 
I also  reported  the  matter  to  General  Wool,  com- 
mander of  the  troops,  at  Fortress  Monroe — a friend 
from  childhood.  I did  not  report  to  Commodore 
Goldsborough,  in  command  of  the  fleet,  for  I must 
say  that,  in  common  with  a good  many  others  who 
were  on  the  ground,  I could  muster  no  great  admira- 
tion for  this  officer.  I do  not  presume  to  question  his 
bravery,  but  certainly  his  policy  of  delay  and  discre- 


Some  Journalistic  Adventures  161 

tion  was  not  of  a sort  to  awaken  enthusiasm  in  any 
quarter.* 

Having  found  the  vessel  to  be  comparatively  easy 
of  access,  I proposed  to  General  Wool  that  I would 
lead  a boarding  party  to  capture  and  destroy  her. 
That  was  the  sort  of  work  I knew  best,  and  nothing 
would  have  given  me  greater  joy  than  to  have  gone 
up  there  on  a dark  night  with  a band  of  good  fellows 
for  a lively  hand-to-hand  bout  of  the  old-fashioned 
kind.  I believe  we  would  have  been  successful,  too, 
but  General  Wool  would  not  give  his  consent,  for  the 
reason,  as  he  said,  that  Goldsborough  would  regard 
it  as  a trespass  on  his  special  field  of  action.  I had  by 
this  time  become  very  tired  of  the  monotonous  routine 
of  Fortress  Monroe,  and  was  only  too  glad  that  an 
opportunity  now  presented  itself  for  more  congenial 
service  both  to  my  paper  and  my  country. 

* On  March  8,  1862,  the  Merrimac  destroyed  the  Congress  and 
the  Cumberland,  and  it  was  expected  she  would  annihilate  the 
rest  of  the  fleet  next  morning.  The  little  Monitor , commanded 
by  John  L.  Worden,  arrived  that  night,  and  March  9,  1862, 
checked  the  Merrimac  in  her  work  of  destruction  and  drove  her 
back,  crippled  and  defeated,  to  her  lair  beyond  Crainey  Island. 
Yet  even  after  this,  she  still  remained  a menace,  and  had  only 
to  show  herself  in  the  channel  to  cause  the  direst  commotion 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Commodore  Goldsborough’s  fleet 


XXIX 

An  Expedition  Against  New  Orleans 

I HAVE  now  reached  the  beginning'  of  what  is  to 
me  the  most  remarkable  portion  of  my  history — 
indeed,  of  any  story  of  naval  warfare.  I refer  to 
the  successful  passage  of  the  forts  below  New  Orleans 
by  the  Federal  fleet  under  Flag  Officer  David  Glasgow 
Farragut  on  the  24th  of  April,  1862. 

During  the  latter  part  of  1861  Commander  David 
D.  Porter  had  urged  upon  President  Lincoln  the  neces- 
sity of  capturing  New  Orleans  as  an  important  step 
in  weakening  the  Confederacy  by  cutting  it  in  half, 
as  it  were,  and  closing  one  of  its  chief  ports  of  sup- 
plies. The  original  plan  was  to  reduce  Forts  Jackson 
and  St.  Philip,  two  strongholds  built  on  opposite 
banks  of  the  Mississippi,  about  sixty  miles  below  New 
Orleans,  with  a fleet  of  mortar  boats,  in  order  that  a 
land  force  might  ascend  the  river  and  occupy  the  city. 
Commander  Porter  had  full  confidence  in  the  effec- 
tiveness of  mortar  fire,  and  a fleet  of  bomb-vessels — 
consisting  of  twenty-two  small  schooners,  each  carrying 
one  13-inch  mortar,  and  from  two  to  four  thirty- 
two  pound  guns  for  defence — was  eventually  organ- 
ised, with  a land  force  of  about  fifteen  thousand  men 
under  command  of  General  Benjamin  F.  Butler  of 
Massachusetts.  There  was  also  to  be  a small  fleet  of 
tugs  and  armed  steamers  to  tow  and  protect  the  mor- 

162 


Expedition  against  New  Orleans  163 

tar  fleet,  and  of  these  the  Harriet  Lane , which  has 
already  appeared  twice  in  these  annals — once  in  the 
service  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  again  in  the  ex- 
pedition against  Sumter — was  to  carry  the  flag.* 

But  as  the  expedition  began  to  materialise,  the 
original  plan  was  amplified,  and  a feature  was  added 
without  which  its  success  would  have  been  extremely 
doubtful.  A powerful  fleet  of  war  vessels  was  or- 
ganised for  the  purpose  of  running  by  the  forts,  in 
event  of  the  mortars  failing  to  accomplish  all  that 
Porter  had  predicted. 

As  had  been  the  case  with  former  expeditions,  the 
plan  and  purpose  of  this  one  were  at  first  kept  secret 
by  the  Department;  but  as  it  had  been  found  that  I 

*The  Harriet  Lane  does  not  appear  in  these  pages  after  the 
New  Orleans  episode.  Her  subsequent  career  was  eventful.  She 
assisted  in  the  attack  on  the  Vicksburg  batteries,  June  28th,  1862, 
assisted  in  capturing  Galveston,  Texas,  October  9th,  1862,  and 
was  captured  by  boarding  parties  in  Galveston  Harbor,  January 
1st,  1863,  Commander  Wainwright  and  Lieutenant-Commander 
Lee  being  killed.  She  then  became  a blockade  runner,  and  at 
the  close  of  the  war  was  converted  into  a sailing  vessel.  Her 
end  was  unknown  to  the  writer  until  these  papers  appeared 
in  magazine  form,  when  the  following  interesting  letter  was 
received. 

San  Francisco,  Cal.,  Feb.  14,  1906. 

Dear  Sir: — Your  footnote  concerning  the  Harriet  Lane,  in 
your  story  “A  Sailor  of  Fortune,”  now  running  in  Pearson's 
Magazine,  has  led  me  to  write  you  as  follows : 

On  or  about  April  10th,  1884,  the  British  ship  Galgate  left 
Liverpool,  England,  bound  for  Sidney,  N.  S.  W. 

While  on  the  voyage,  and  about  fifty  miles  off  the  coast  of 
Pernambuco,  a vessel  was  sighted  flying  signals  of  distress.  The 
Galgate  hove  to  and  put  out  a boat.  On  boarding  the  bark  she 
was  discovered  to  be  the  George  P.  Ritchie,  lumber  laden  from 
Brunswick,  Georgia,  formerly  the  gunboat  Harriet  Lane.  She 


164  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

did  not  “leak  ” information,  perhaps,  also,  because 
of  services  rendered,  I received  an  inkling  of  what 
was  in  progress,  and  one  morning  in  December,  1861, 
I applied  to  Commander  Porter  for  an  appointment 
as  his  secretary  and  fleet  signal  officer,  with  the  privi- 
lege of  continuing  my  newspaper  work.  My  offer  was 
promptly  accepted,  and  I was  ordered  to  report  on 
board  the  Harriet  Lane  when  the  fleet  was  ready  to 
sail. 

But  with  the  alteration  and  enlargement  of  Por- 
ter’s idea  there  appeared  a new  commander — one 
whose  name  shall  forever  rank  with  those  of  the  great- 
est naval  heroes  in  history. 

Captain  David  G.  Farragut  had  recently  been  re- 
lieved of  his  command  of  the  Brooklyn , and  had  re- 

was  barely  afloat,  the  crew  having  been  at  the  pumps  for  twenty- 
nine  days  and  the  captain  having  broken  his  arm. 

We  took  off  the  crew  of  six  men,  including  the  captain.  Then 
we  returned,  and  having  sprinkled  kerosene  all  over  her  set  her 
afire.  That  night  the  Galgate  met  several  steamers,  doubtless 
attracted  by  the  blazing  ship,  and  we  put  the  crew  aboard  one  of 
them. 

The  water-logged  vessel  belonged  to  the  United  States,  and  I, 
being  the  only  American  aboard  the  English  ship,  was  naturally 
curious,  and  the  information  connecting  the  George  P.  Ritchie 
with  the  Harriet  Lane  was  given  me  by  the  captain.  The  only 
boat  aboard  was  a little  skiff  capable  of  holding  not  more  than 
two  persons,  and  being  lumber  laden  was  the  reason  they  had 
stuck  to  her.  The  only  thing  outside  the  crew  we  rescued  was  a 
piano,  which  we  got  out  by  chopping  through  the  deck. 

The  agents  of  the  Galgate  are  or  were  Balfour,  Williamson  & 
Co.,  of  James  Street,  Liverpool,  England. 

The  writer  was  a seaman  aboard  the  Galgate . 

Respectfully, 

J.  A.  Simpson. 

1705  Baker  Street,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 


Expedition  against  New  Orleans  165 

tired  to  his  home  at  Norfolk,  Virginia,  only  to  leave 
it  for  the  reason  that  he  was  told  that  men  of  his 
views  could  not  remain  residents  of  that  disloyal  city. 

“ Well,  then  I can  live  elsewhere,”  was  Farragut’s 
reply,  and  he  removed  with  his  little  family  to  Hast- 
ings-on-the-Hudson,  to  await  the  time  when  his 
country  should  need  his  services.  The  time  had  now 
come.  Farragut  had  served  under  Porter’s  father, 
and  as  a boy  of  eleven  had  been  with  him  on  the 
Essex  in  a terrible  fight  off  Valparaiso.  The  younger 
men  had  always  been  friends,  and  Commander  Por- 
ter now  suggested  to  the  Department  that  Farragut 
be  placed  in  command  of  the  squadron  of  the  expedi- 
tion as  senior  or  flag  officer,  himself  to  retain  the 
mortar  flotilla,  subject  to  Farragut’s  orders. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  January  9th,  1862,  that 
Farragut  was  ordered  to  report  to  Commodore  Pen- 
dergast  at  Philadelphia  and  to  hoist  his  flag  on  the 
fine  sloop  of  war  Hartford.  Eleven  days  later  he  re- 
ceived from  Secretary  Welles  explicit  instructions  as 
to  his  movements,*  and  it  was  on  the  same  day,  Janu- 

* Navy  Department,  January  20th,  1862. 

Sir:  When  the  Hartford  is  in  all  respects  ready  for  sea, 

you  will  proceed  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  with  all  possible  despatch, 
and  communicate  with  Flag  Officer  W.  W.  McKean,  who  is 
directed  by  the  enclosed  despatch  to  transfer  to  you  the  command 
of  the  Western  Gulf  Blockading  Squadron.  . . . 

There  will  be  attached  to  your  squadron  a fleet  of  bomb- 
vessels,  and  armed  steamers  enough  to  manage  them,  all  under 
command  of  Commander  David  D.  Porter,  who  will  be  directed 
to  report  to  you.  As  fast  as  these  vessels  are  got  ready  they 
will  be  sent  to  Key  West  to  await  the  arrival  of  all,  and  the 
commanding  officers,  who  will  be  permitted  to  organise  and  prac- 
tise them  at  that  port. 


1 66  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

ary  20th,  that  I learned  details  of  these  things  from 
Commander  Porter  himself,  then  at  the  Brooklyn 
Navy  yard,  on  board  the  Harriet  Lane.  As  Porter 
unfolded  the  new  plan  I began  to  fear  that  my  hope 
of  being  in  the  front  of  activity  was  not  likely  to  be 
realised.  A mortar  flotilla,  however  noisy,  would  be  a 
comparatively  quiet  place  when  real  battle  with  broad- 
sides at  close  range,  and  ramming  and  boarding  par- 
ties, might  be  going  on  not  far  away.  I suppose  he 
saw  my  rueful  look,  for  he  said : 

“ Look  here,  you’d  better  go  with  David.  You’ll 
have  more  fun  and  get  more  news  with  him.  I’ll  give 
you  a letter,  and  if  he  doesn’t  want  you,  come  with 
me,  anyhow.” 

When  these  formidable  mortars  arrive,  and  you  are  completely 
ready,  you  will  collect  such  vessels  as  can  be  spared  from  the 
blockade  and  proceed  up  the  Mississippi  River,  and  reduce  the 
defences  which  guard  the  approaches  to  New  Orleans,  when 
you  will  appear  off  that  city  and  take  possession  of  it  under  the 
guns  of  your  squadron,  and  hoist  the  American  Flag  therein, 
keeping  possession  until  troops  can  be  sent  to  you.  ...  As 
you  have  expressed  yourself  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  force 
given  to  you,  and  as  many  more  powerful  vessels  will  be  added 
before  you  can  commence  operations,  the  Department  and  the 
country  will  require  of  you  success.  . . . There  are  other 

operations  of  minor  importance  which  will  commend  themselves 
to  your  judgment  and  skill,  but  which  must  not  be  allowed  to 
interfere  with  the  great  object  in  view — the  certain  capture  of 
the  city  of  New  Orleans. 

Destroy  the  armed  barriers  which  these  deluded  people  have 
raised  up  against  the  power  of  the  United  States  Government, 
and  shoot  down  those  who  war  against  the  Union;  but  cultivate 
with  cordiality  the  first  returning  reason,  which  is  sure  to  follow 
your  success.  Respectfully,  etc., 

Gideon  Welles. 

To  Flag  Officer  D.  G.  Farragut, 

Appointed  to  command  Western  Gulf  Blockading  Squadron . 


Expedition  against  New  Orleans  167 

He  wrote  the  letter  at  once,  and  with  it  in  my 
pocket  I caught  the  first  train  for  Philadelphia.  I 
found  Farragut  at  the  Continental  Hotel,  where  he 
had  just  finished  dinner,  and  as  he  read  my  letter  I 
mentally  took  his  measure,  and  felt  at  once  I would 
accept  any  position  that  such  a man  might  offer  me. 

The  letter  was  of  considerable  length  and  he  read 
it  carefully.  When  he  had  finished  he  turned  to  me 
and  said: 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  I am  glad  to  meet  you  and  should  be 
pleased  to  have  you  in  the  flagship.  But  I can  tender 
you  only  the  position  of  clerk,  as  I have  already  ap- 
pointed my  secretary.  The  clerkship  pays  a salary  of 
fifty  dollars  per  month.” 

I did  not  hesitate. 

“ Thank  you,”  I said,  “ I shall  be  only  too  happy 
to  accept,  and  I shall  do  my  best  to  fill  the  place.” 

Without  further  ado  he  called  his  secretary  and  or- 
dered him  to  make  out  my  appointment,  which  read 
as  follows: 

Philadelphia,  Jan.  20th,  1862. 

Sir:  You  are  hereby  appointed  Clerk  to  Flag  Officer  of  the 
Western  Gulf  Blockading  Squadron,  and  will  report  to  Com- 
mander Wainwright,  who  will  assign  you  quarters. 

Yours  very  respectfully, 

D.  G.  Farragut, 

Flag  Officer. 

To  Mr.  B.  S.  Osbon,  New  York  City. 

Our  entire  interview  did  not  last  twenty  minutes. 
My  appointment  in  my  pocket,  I hurried  to  New 
York  for  my  dunnage,  and  caught  a train  back  to 
Philadelphia  the  following  morning.  But  our  flag- 


1 68  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

ship,  the  Hartford , had  dropped  down  to  Newcastle, 
for  the  ice  was  then  very  heavy  in  the  Delaware,  and 
there  was  danger  of  being  frozen  in.  It  required  sev- 
eral days  to  fill  our  magazines  from  Fort  Mifflin,  but 
on  the  2d  of  February  we  finally  left  Hampton  Roads 
for  the  South,  touching  at  Port  Royal,  where,  three 
months  before,  with  Dupont,  on  the  Wabash,  I had 
witnessed  the  reduction  of  Forts  Walker  and  Beaure- 
gard, as  already  recorded. 

The  squadron  was  ordered  to  assemble  off  Key 
West,  and  we  saw  none  of  our  vessels  on  the  way 
down.  Some  were  to  come  from  Boston,  others  from 
New  York,  one  from  the  West  Indies,  and  whatever 
could  be  spared  from'  the  fleet  already  doing  duty  off 
the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi.  Though  a good  portion 
of  them  were  little  gunboats,  most  of  them  were  serv- 
iceable vessels,  and  with  Commander  Porter’s  bomb 
flotilla  would  constitute  a formidable  array.  Our  flag- 
ship, the  Hartford,  was  one  of  the  finest  vessels  of  her 
class — a screw  ship  of  nineteen  hundred  and  ninety 
tons  register,  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  long, 
with  a complement  of  twenty-two  nine-inch  Dahlgren 
and  two  twenty-pound  Parrot  guns,  with  a Sawyer  rifle 
on  the  forecastle.  She  also  had  howitzers  mounted  in 
the  fore-  and  maintops,  protected  by  boiler-iron,  this  be- 
ing Farragut’s  invention  and,  I believe,  the  first  form 
of  fighting  top. 

It  was  the  6th  of  February  when  we  left  Port  Royal, 
and  the  nth  when  we  reached  Key  West,  where  a 
number  of  our  vessels  were  already  assembled  and  a 
portion  of  the  mortar  flotilla,  the  latter  being  towed 
by  powerful  tugs  to  our  final  rendezvous  off  Ship 


Expedition  against  New  Orleans  169 

Island.  I had  seen  very  little  of  Farragut  on  the  way 
down.  He  was  suffering  from  a cold,  and  there  had 
been  no  clerical  work  to  do.  In  fact,  my  acquaintance 
was  chiefly  confined  to  the  engineers’  mess,  of  which 
I was  a member,  for  the  wardroom  officers  were  in- 
clined to  avoid  a correspondent,  fearing,  as  they  after- 
ward confessed,  that  I would  make  copy  of  their  every 
word  and  act. 

But  one  afternoon  Fleet  Surgeon  J.  M.  Foltz  came 
to  where  I was  leaning  over  the  rail  and  said : 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  your  face  is  very  familiar  to  me. 
Were  you  not  in  the  Argentine  navy  under  Commo- 
dore Coe,  and  did  you  not  command  the  V einte-Cinco 
de  Mayo?” 

I confessed  that  this  was  true. 

“ Well,  then,”  he  went  on,  “ don’t  you  remember 
me  as  the  surgeon  of  the  United  States  sloop  of  war 
Jamestown?  ” 

I recalled  him  immediately,  and  we  reviewed  the 
brisk  days  at  Buenos  Ayres  of  five  or  six  years  before. 
Later  in  the  afternoon  a messenger  brought  word  that 
the  Flag  Officer  desired  to  see  me  in  his  cabin.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  summoned  me,  and  I responded 
without  delay. 

I found  him  alone  in  his  cabin,  and  as  I entered  he 
extended  his  hand  in  a cordial  greeting. 

“ Mr.  Osbon,”  he  said,  “ I suppose  you  think  I 
have  forgotten  that  you  are  my  clerk,  but  as  a mat- 
ter of  fact  I have  not  needed  to  call  on  you.  I under- 
stood that  you  were  comfortable,  considering  the 
crowded  condition  of  the  vessel,  and  I have  not  been 
well,  as  you  know.” 


1 7°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

I thanked  the  Flag  Officer  and  assured  him  that  I 
was  perfectly  comfortable. 

“ By  the  way,”  he  added,  “ you  never  told  me  that 
you  had  seen  active  naval  service,  and  Porter  did  not 
mention  it  in  his  letter.  Now,  Dr.  Foltz  tells  me  that 
he  knew  you  in  the  Argentine  Navy,  and  that  you 
commanded  a famous  little  vessel.  You  should  have 
told  me  of  this,  as  I need  to  know  every  man’s  quali- 
fications and  experience,  especially  when  it  concerns 
my  personal  staff.  Sit  down,  please,  and  tell  me  all 
about  your  naval  service.  Dr.  Foltz  has  told  me  a 
good  deal,  but  I want  to  hear  it  from  your  own 
lips.” 

For  nearly  two  hours  we  talked  there  in  the  cabin, 
and  I told  him  the  whole  story,  beginning  with  the 
Anglo-Chinese  warfare,  and  ending  with  the  Port 
Royal  engagement,  three  months  before.  I have  never 
had  a more  attentive  or  appreciative  listener.  When 
I left  him  that  evening  he  had  become  more  than 
ever  my  ideal  of  a commanding  officer. 

From  that  day  I breathed  a new  atmosphere.  I was 
one  of  the  very  few  men  on  the  vessel  who  had  smelled 
powder  in  action,  and  the  wardroom  cultivated  my 
acquaintance.  I may  add  that  my  admiration  for  Far- 
ragut  grew  with  each  passing  day,  and  when  one  day 
I saw  him  handle  the  vessel  under  canvas  my  respect 
for  him  as  a sailor  was  unbounded.  Not  long  after 
he  said  to  me, 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  I understand  you  are  a signal  officer, 
and  as  Mr.  Watson  * has  his  hands  full,  I would  like 

* Lieutenant  John  Crittenden  Watson — at  this  writing,  rear 
admiral,  retired,  United  States  Navy. 


Expedition  against  New  Orleans  171 

you  to  take  charge  of  the  signals  as  signal  officer 
of  the  fleet.” 

No  duty  could  have  been  more  congenial  to  my  tastes 
or  more  suited  to  my  position  as  correspondent.  It 
brought  me  into  the  closest  touch  with  the  Flag 
Officer,  and  gave  me  the  most  intimate  knowledge  of 
every  movement  of  the  fleet.  I thankfully  accepted 
the  task,  and  from  that  day  until  we  were  safely  at 
New  Orleans,  made  every  signal  that  controlled  the 
Western  Gulf  Blockading  Squadron,  as  Flag  Officer 
Farragut’s  command  was  called. 


XXX 


With  Farragut  under  Trying  Conditions 

TER  filling  her  coal  bunkers  at  Key  West,  the 


Hartford  crossed  over  to  Havana,  where  lay 


the  allied  fleets  of  England,  France,  and  Spain, 
assembled  for  the  purpose  of  compelling  the  payment 
of  Mexican  obligations,  and  with  the  ulterior  design 
on  the  part  of  France  of  placing  the  Austrian  prince, 
Maximilian,  on  the  Mexican  throne.  There  were  also 
in  the  harbour  a number  of  Confederate  vessels,  wait- 
ing for  a chance  to  run  the  blockade,  and  it  was  to 
observe  conditions  there,  and  to  consult  with  our  Con- 
sul General,  that  we  put  in  at  this  port. 

Owing  to  the  general  unfriendliness  of  the  place, 
our  Flag  Officer  had  very  little  respect  for  the  Span- 
ish authorities  and  small  regard  for  their  customs.  It 
was  after  dark  when  we  arrived  off  Morro  Castle, 
and  though  the  regulations  of  those  days  did  not  per- 
mit vessels  to  enter  the  harbour  between  sunset  and 
sunrise,  we  steamed  boldly  in. 

When  hailed,  “ Who  are  you?  ” Farragut  raised  his 
speaking  trumpet  to  his  lips  and  answered: 

“ United  States  flagship  Hartford,  from  Key  West, 
bound  for  Havana  Harbour. 

“ Louder ! Louder ! ” cried  the  voice,  as  before,  in 
Spanish. 


172 


With  Farragut  *73 

Farragut  again  raised  his  speaking  trumpet,  but  im- 
mediately lowered  it  with  an  impatient  gesture. 

“ Here,  Mr.  Osbon,”  he  said,  extending  the  trum- 
pet, “ take  this.  Tell  that  fellow  we  are  the  United 
States  flag  ship  Hartford.  Tell  him  we’re  from  Key 
West,  bound  for  Havana  Harbour,  and  that  we’re  go- 
ing in  to-night.” 

“ Give  her  four  bells,  Captain  Wainwright,”  he 
added  grimly,  and  this  meant  full  speed  ahead. 

He  told  me  afterward  that  if  fired  on  he  intended  to 
run  in,  despite  the  Spanish  guns,  to  show  our  contempt 
for  a nation  that  would  shelter  an  enemy’s  vessels. 
Still,  he  was  courteous  enough  next  day,  and  we  burnt 
a good  deal  of  powder  in  salutes  for  the  Governor 
General,  and  for  various  Commanders  of  the  allied 
fleets. 

But  it  was  only  a formal  cordiality,  for  there  was 
not  a ship  in  that  assemblage  that  would  not  gladly 
have  sent  us  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and,  what  was 
still  worse,  there  were  those  other  vessels  about  us 
flying  the  Stars  and  Bars.  I wondered  how  Farra- 
gut could  remain  so  calm  under  such  irritating  con- 
ditions, and  respond  courteously  to  compliments  so 
evidently  insincere  that  they  were  little  short  of 
insult. 

When  at  last  we  were  happily  at  sea  again,  he 
turned  to  Fleet  Captain  H.  H.  Bell  and  drew  a long 
breath. 

“Well,  thank  God!”  he  said.  “I’m  more  than 
pleased  to  be  out  of  that  infernal  hole.  I’ve  been  mad 
clear  through  all  day,  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  work 
ahead,  nothing  would  suit  me  better  than  to  go  in 


174  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

among  those  fellows  and  give  them  a dose  of  nine- 
inch  shells.  We  may  have  to  do  it  yet  before  this  war 
is  over.” 

We  shaped  our  course  now  for  Ship  Island,  arriv- 
ing there  on  the  evening  of  February  20th,  and  on  the 
following  morning  Farragut  assumed  entire  control 
of  the  assembled  fleets,  relieving  Flag  Officer  W.  W. 
McKean,  who  had  previously  been  in  command  of 
the  blockading  squadron.  We  had  bad  weather  at 
Ship  Island  and  were  delayed  there  until  the  7th  of 
March.  But  on  the  evening  of  that  day  the  Hartford 
was  off  Pass  l’Outre  of  the  Mississippi  delta,  and  then 
began  the  tedious  attempt  to  get  the  larger  vessels 
over  the  bar. 

Finally,  on  the  nth  of  March,  we  steamed  around 
to  Southwest  Pass,  and  on  the  13th  crossed  the  bar 
and  anchored  of  Pilot  Town.  Next  morning  Lieu- 
tenant (now  Rear-Admiral)  Albert  Kautz,  Lieuten- 
ant John  L.  Broome  of  the  Marine  Corps,  with  myself 
and  thirty  marines  landed  and  hoisted  over  the  look- 
out tower  the  first  Union  flag  planted  to  stay  on  the 
soil  of  Louisiana.  The  Confederate  pilots  had  fled  up 
the  river,  and  only  a few  loyal  men  and  women  re- 
mained at  the  place. 

On  the  15th  of  March  the  Hartford  steamed  up  to 
the  head  of  the  Passes,  where  the  Brooklyn  (which 
had  been  worked  across  the  bar  with  great  difficulty) 
and  three  gunboats  were  already  lying. 

Now  came  nearly  a month  of  tedious  delay  incident 
to  getting  the  larger  ships  over  the  bar  at  Southwest 
Pass.  The  Pensacola  and  Mississippi  were  dragged 
over  with  great  effort,  the  latter  cutting  through  two 


With  Farragut  175 

feet  of  soft  mud.  Finally,  on  April  8th,  Farragut  was 
able  to  report  with  great  satisfaction  that  all  were  over 
but  the  Colorado , it  having  been  found  impossible  to 
lighten  this  vessel  sufficiently  to  make  the  passage. 
This  was  a great  disappointment,  for  the  Colorado 
was  a splendid  ship,  and  her  commander,  Captain 
Theodoras  Bailey,  second  in  rank  to  Farragut  him- 
self, was  one  of  the  bravest  men  and  ablest  fighters 
that  ever  set  foot  on  a man-of-war.  Captain  Bailey 
did  not  abandon  the  expedition,  however,  but  came 
up  with  a number  of  his  crew  and  eventually  was 
given  a place  of  great  honour,  as  we  shall  see.  Com- 
mander Porter’s  mortar  flotilla  had  arrived  safely  and 
the  little  vessels  were  moving  up  in  readiness  to  take 
their  positions.  General  Butler  and  his  troops  were  at 
Ship  Island,  and  matters  were  rapidly  shaping  them- 
selves for  the  first  attack  upon  the  forts. 

In  the  meantime  I had  been  given  an  opportunity  to 
observe  something  of  our  enemy’s  preparations,  as 
well  as  of  their  target  practice.  On  March  28th  Flag 
Officer  Farragut  asked  me  to  accompany  Fleet  Cap- 
tain Bell  on  a reconnaissance  of  the  forts,  and  with 
the  gunboats  Kennebec  and  Wissahickon  we  went  up 
the  river  to  “ draw  the  fire,”  in  order  that  we  might 
make  some  estimate  of  the  enemy’s  armament  and  re- 
sources. Captain  Bell  and  I were  on  board  the  Kenne- 
bec, and  I must  say  that  we  succeeded  in  getting  the 
warmest  kind  of  a reception. 

Fort  Jackson  on  the  left  was  nearer  to  us,  but  Fort 
St.  Philip,  on  the  east  shore,  being  just  on  the  bend, 
had  a clear  range  down  the  river.  The  shots  from  both 
fell  all  around  us  and  we  realised  that  to  pass  between 


176  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

those  two  well  armed  and  ably  manned  works  at  a 
perfectly  point-blank  range  was  going  to  be  a task  to 
try  men’s  souls.  In  1815  Fort  Jackson  alone  had  held 
the  entire  British  fleet  in  check  for  nine  days,  though 
they  had  thrown  into  it  more  than  one  thousand  shells. 
Now,  there  were  two  forts  instead  of  one,  and  each 
of  them  far  stronger  and  better  armed  than  the  old 
works. 

Just  below  Fort  Jackson  there  was  a barrier  in  the 
shape  of  a chain  supported  by  a log  raft  and  eight 
schooner  hulks,  anchored  abreast.  This,  also,  must  be 
overcome  before  our  vessels  could  even  attempt  a pas- 
sage, and  to  sever  it  would  be  a work  requiring  not 
only  skill  blit  bravery,  for  it  would  have  to  be  done 
directly  under  the  fire  of  both  forts.  Fort  Jackson,  be- 
ing on  the  lower  side  of  the  bend,  had  a better  com- 
mand of  the  river  above,  but  the  woods  just  below 
the  fort  had  been  cleared  away  so  that  she  could  sweep 
downstream,  too. 

Altogether  there  was  rough  work  ahead,  and  when 
a French  and  an  English  gunboat,  which  had  been  per- 
mitted to  go  to  New  Orleans  in  the  interest  of  their 
countrymen,  came  down  and  reported  that  it  was  abso- 
lutely impossible  for  a fleet  of  wooden  vessels  to  with- 
stand the  fire  of  forts,  water-batteries,  gunboats,  and 
ironclads  that  awaited  us — that  to  undertake  the  pas- 
sage meant  certain  annihilation  of  our  fleet — I fear 
there  were  one  or  two  wavering  hearts  among  the 
men  who  heard  the  tale.  But  if  so,  they  made  no  sign, 
and  as  for  Farragut  he  quietly  regarded  the  foreign 
commanders  who  so  eagerly  made  this  discouraging 
report,  and  said  very  gravely : 


With  Farragut  177 

“ Well,  gentlemen,  my  orders  are  to  pass  the  forts 
and  capture  the  city  of  New  Orleans.  It  is  my  inten- 
tion to  obey  those  orders,  and  with  the  help  of  God 
I have  no  doubt  I shall  be  able  to  reach  the  city.  I 
shall  lose  some  men  and  possibly  some  ships,  but  I do 
not  anticipate  a great  loss  of  either.  My  prayer  is  they 
will  be  few.” 

His  tone  was  very  gentle,  but  solemn,  and  made  a 
profound  impression  on  everyone  present.  It  seemed 
to  breathe  at  once  absolute  self-reliance,  confidence 
in  his  commanding  officers  and  crews,  knowledge  of 
the  weak  points  of  his  enemy,  an  unfaltering  faith  in 
a Divine  Providence,  and  a full  determination  to  obey 
his  orders  from  the  Department.* 

It  was  during  our  reconnaissance  of  the  28th  that  I 
made  a sketch  of  a water-battery  which  I had  observed 
lying  below  Fort  Jackson.  On  our  return  Captain  Bell 
made  his  report,  and  later  I was  summoned  for  mine. 
I told  the  Flag  Officer  what  I had  seen  and  showed  my 
sketches.  When  he  noticed  my  drawing  of  the  water- 
battery  he  at  once  sent  for  Captain  Bell. 

“ Mr.  Osbon  has  here  a sketch  of  a water-battery 
which  you  failed  to  report,”  he  said.  “ How  is  that  ? ” 

Bell  was  puzzled  and  a little  nettled. 

“ I believe  I have  as  good  eyes  as  Mr.  Osbon,”  he 
insisted,  “ and  I saw  nothing  of  the  kind.” 

* “ I have  now  attained  what  I have  been  looking  for  all  my 
life,”  wrote  Farragut  in  a letter  home,  “ a flag — and  having  at- 
tained it,  all  that  is  necessary  to  complete  the  scene,  is  victory. 
If  I die  in  the  attempt,  it  will  only  be  what  every  officer  has  to 
expect.  He  who  dies  in  doing  his  duty  to  his  country,  and  at 
peace  with  his  God,  has  played  out  the  drama  of  life  to  the  best 
advantage.” 


1 78  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

“ Well,”  said  Farragut,  “ we’ll  take  another  look 
to-morrow  morning  and  I’ll  see  what  I can  see.” 

We  were  off  next  morning  at  nine  o’clock  on  the 
Iroquois,  whose  commander,  gallant  John  De  Camp, 
soon  put  her  where  we  could  get  a full  view  of  the 
works.  The  Flag  Officer  and  Captain  Bell  seated  them- 
selves on  the  fore  yard  for  observation,  and  in  the 
shower  of  iron  that  dropped  around  us  came  very 
near  being  struck  by  a shell  from  the  very  water- 
battery  that  Captain  Bell  had  failed  to  see  the  day 
before.  The  Iroquois  was  a bigger  target  than  the 
Kennebec,  but  once  more  we  came  out  untouched, 
though  a number  of  the  shots  came  very  close  indeed. 
Nothing  disturbed  Farragut.  He  was  as  calm  and 
placid  as  an  onlooker  at  a mimic  battle.  The  shell  that 
nearly  ended  his  life  was  scarcely  noticed.  He  would 
have  remained  longer  on  observation,  but  for  the  sug- 
gestion from  Captain  Bell  that  the  situation  was  need- 
lessly dangerous.  No  precaution  of  any  sort  was  taken 
because  of  the  Flag  Officer’s  presence,  except  that  the 
vessel  did  not  hoist  his  blue  flag.  It  was  the  first  time 
I had  seen  Farragut  under  fire.  He  was  my  idol  as  a 
man,  an  officer  and  a hero  from  that  hour. 

There  came  a period  now  that  was  hard  on  the 
nerves  of  officers  and  crew.  Commander  Porter  got 
his  mortar  fleet  in  position,  and  on  April  18  opened 
fire  with  his  thirteen-inch  shells.  His  vessels  were 
small  and  made  a pretty  show  as  they  filed  by,  for  he 
had  their  masts  and  rigging  covered  with  tree  branches, 
so  that  it  was  almost  impossible  for  the  enemy  to  see 
them  when  they  were  ranged  along  the  shore.  All  day 
and  night  the  air  was  rent  with  the  deafening  roar  of 


With  Farragut  179 

those  mortars  and  the  reply  of  the  enemy’s  guns. 
Neither  side  appeared  to  be  able  to  do  much  damage, 
though  the  Fort  Jackson  citadel  was  set  on  fire  the 
first  day  and  one  of  the  enemy’s  heavy  guns  dis- 
mounted. On  the  mortar  fleet  a man  was  killed  by  a 
shot  and  later  a vessel  was  sunk,  the  latter  without 
loss  of  life.  At  times  the  gunboats  went  up  to  create 
a diversion,  and  their  hot  fire  drove  the  enemy  from 
the  parapets,  though  this  only  caused  a redoubled  fire 
from  the  heavy  casemate  guns.  It  was  rather  slow 
work  for  the  rest  of  us,  lying  as  we  did  some  three 
thousand  yards  below  the  forts,  out  of  range  except 
for  an  occasional  accelerating  shell  which  dropped 
here  and  there,  once  causing  the  Hartford  to  shift 
position. 

Yet  we  were  by  no  means  idle.  Daily  in  the  cabin 
of  the  Hartford  there  was  a council  of  all  the  com- 
manding officers,  where  the  situation  was  discussed 
from  every  possible  point  of  view,  and  where  every 
suggestion  was  carefully  considered,  and  if  found 
worthy  was  put  into  effect.  Through  the  inspiration 
of  Engineer  Moore  of  the  Richmond,  our  chain-cables 
' were  arranged  on  the  outside  of  the  vessels  immedi- 
ately over  the  engines  and  boilers,  and  made  an  ex- 
cellent protection.  Another  idea  was  to  whitewash  the 
decks,  so  that  in  the  dark — for  it  had  been  decided 
that  we  would  run  the  forts  in  the  night — rammers 
and  other  dark  objects  could  be  more  easily  distin- 
guished. A third  plan  was  to  paint  the  outside  of  the 
vessels  with  a mixture  of  oil  and  mud,  so  they  would 
be  harder  to  see.  Still  another  good  idea  was  to  pack 
the  boilers  with  bags  of  ashes,  clothing,  sand  and  what- 


i Bo  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

ever  was  obtainable  for  the  purpose.  Many  of  the  ships 
arranged  rope  nettings  about  the  bulwarks  to  protect 
the  men  from  flying  splinters,  and  there  were  many 
such  ingenious  devices  for  safety  and  comfort  of  offi- 
cers and  crews. 

There  was  also  other  employment.  From  the  en- 
emy’s fleet,  which  lay  above  the  forts,  fire-rafts  began 
to  come  down — great  scows,  from  fifty  to  a hundred 
feet  long — loaded  with  pine  knots  and  well  saturated 
with  tar,  the  whole  burning  fiercely  like  a prairie  fire 
and  making  a rare  show  in  the  night  on  the  water. 
The  current  was  very  swift,  and  it  was  believed  by  the 
enemy  that  these  rafts  would  get  among  our  vessels 
and  set  us  afire.  But  stout  crews  were  kept  out  in 
boats,  armed  with  grapplings,  and  as  fast  as  the  rafts 
came  down  they  were  towed  ashore  and  allowed  to 
burn,  or  were  sent  drifting  down  the  river  below  the 
fleet.  Farragut  watched  this  mode  of  warfare  with 
some  disgust. 

“ If  those  fellows  knew  their  business  they  could 
make  it  warm  for  us,”  he  said ; “ as  it  is,  all  they  do 
is  to  deprive  our  boys  of  their  rest.” 

We  also  were  harassed  by  about  two  hundred  sharp- 
shooters, who  ranged  up  and  down  the  shore  to  carry 
information  and  to  pick  off  our  men. 

Farragut  became  impatient  on  the  20th  and  declared 
he  would  run  the  forts  that  night,  but  repairs  to  two 
vessels  and  the  pleadings  of  Porter  for  more  time  with 
the  mortars  induced  him  to  wait.  On  that  night,  how- 
ever, an  expedition  was  organised  to  cut  the  chain 
which  spanned  the  river  below  the  forts.  The  Itasca  and 
the  Pinola,  dismasted  that  they  might  be  less  conspic- 


With  Farragut  181 

uous,  undertook  this  desperate  job.  Fleet  Captain  Bell 
with  Commanders  Crosby  and  Calwell,  and  an  ex- 
pert with  petards,  had  the  mission  in  hand,  and  with 
anxious  interest  we  saw  them  sail  away  into  the  dark- 
ness. The  plan  was  to  blow  up  one  of  the  supporting 
hulks  with  a petard  and  sever  the  chain,  permitting 
the  rest  of  the  hulks  and  the  raft  to  swing  down  against 
the  river  banks. 

We  knew,  of  course,  they  would  be  discovered,  the 
only  question  being  how  much  they  could  accomplish 
before  they  were  sunk  or  driven  away.  The  moments 
passed  and  seemed  like  hours.  Suddenly  the  whole 
mortar  fleet  let  loose  a tremendous  volley,  with  three 
to  eight  shells  constantly  in  the  air,  falling  like  meteors 
in  and  around  Fort  Jackson.  This  was  to  divert  at- 
tention from  the  chain  expedition,  but  it  failed  to  do 
so.  A rocket  went  up  from  Fort  Jackson,  and  then 
both  forts  opened  a fire  with  heavy  guns.  Neither  of 
our  vessels  replied  and  we  had  no  means  of  knowing 
what  was  taking  place.  Over  an  hour  of  anxiety 
passed,  during  which  we  strained  our  eyes  into  the 
night  for  the  first  sight  of  the  returning  ships.  Then 
at  last  a single  small  boat  came  out  of  the  darkness. 
It  was  from  the  Pinola  and  brought  the  news  that  the 
chain  was  broken,  and  that  the  Itasca  was  hard  and 
fast  aground.  The  fire  from  the  forts  had  slackened, 
but  unless  we  got  her  off  before  moonrise  she  was  cer- 
tain to  be  captured.  Orders  were  sent  to  tow  her  off 
immediately,  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  her  guns.  But  this 
was  not  necessary.  By  midnight  both  the  Itasca  and 
Pinola  were  safe  at  their  anchorage,  and  while  the 
barrier,  which  was  held  in  place  by  anchors,  was  not 


1 82  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

completely  destroyed,  a passage  had  been  made  through 
it.  The  petard  had  failed  to  work  owing  to  the  swift- 
ness of  the  current,  which  had  broken  the  connecting 
wires,  so  that  the  cutting  had  been  accomplished  by 
other  means.  No  one  had  been  killed,  and  we  all  drew 
a great  breath  of  relief. 

By  April  21st,  though  nearly  five  thousand  shells  had 
been  thrown,  the  forts  appeared  to  be  as  powerful  as 
ever.  It  was  blowing  a fierce  norther  and  the  weather 
was  really  very  cold.  Fire-rafts  kept  annoying  us,  and 
every  day  the  enemy’s  gunboats  came  down  to  have  a 
look  at  us  or  to  land  provisions  and  ammunition  at 
Fort  Jackson.  On  the  night  of  the  21st  a bright  light 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  chain,  which  we  first  took  for  a 
fire-raft,  proved  to  be  a party  of  the  enemy  trying  to 
repair  the  broken  barrier.  On  the  same  day  the 
Oneida,  while  engaging  Fort  Jackson,  lost  almost  an 
entire  gun’s  crew  by  one  shell. 

All  of  these  things  wore  on  Farragut’s  small  store 
of  patience,  and  I could  see  that  he  was  getting  rest- 
less. By  the  morning  of  the  22d,  when  the  bombard- 
ment had  continued  four  days  and  nights,  our  Flag 
Officer  could  no  longer  control  his  expression  of  its 
uselessness. 

“ We  are  wasting  ammunition,”  he  said  to  Com- 
mander Porter,  “ and  time.  We  will  fool  around  down 
here  until  we  have  nothing  left  to  fight  with.  I’m  ready 
to  run  those  forts  now,  to-night.” 

But  Porter  still  pleaded  for  time. 

“ Wait  one  more  day,  Flag  Officer,”  he  said,  “ and 
I will  cripple  them  so  you  can  pass  up  with  little  or 
no  loss  of  life.” 


With  Farragut  183 

This  was  a strong  appeal  to  Farragut’s  tender 
nature. 

“ All  right,  David,”  he  replied.  “ Go  at  ’em  again 
and  we’ll  see  what  happens  by  to-morrow.” 

But  to-morrow  brought  no  change.  Fort  Jackson 
was  as  lively  as  ever,  and  Fort  St.  Philip,  which  had 
not  been  made  a point  of  special  attack,  was  almost 
untouched.  Commander  Porter  came  on  board  the 
Hartford  to  report,  downcast  but  still  anxious  to  con- 
tinue the  bombardment.  The  discussion  waxed  pretty 
warm,  and  finally  Farragut  said : 

“ Look  here,  David,  we’ll  demonstrate  the  practical 
value  of  mortar  work.  Mr.  Osbon,”  he  added,  turning 
to  me,  “ get  two  small  flags,  a white  one  and  a red 
one,  and  go  to  the*  mizzen  topmasthead  and  watch 
where  the  mortar  shells  fall.  If  inside  the  fort,  wave 
the  red  flag.  If  outside,  wave  the  white  one.”  Then  to 
Porter,  “ You  recommended  Mr.  Osbon  to  me,  so  you 
will  have  confidence  in  his  count.  Now  go  aboard 
your  vessel,  select  a tallyman,  and  when  all  is  ready, 
Mr.  Osbon  will  wave  his  flags  and  the  count  will 
begin.” 

The  little  flags  were  quickly  made  ready,  the  tally- 
man was  selected,  and  the  mortar  flotilla  presently 
opened  up  with  renewed  vigour.  Up  there  at  the  mast- 
head where  I could  see,  it  kept  me  busy  waving  the 
little  flags,  and  I had  to  watch  very  closely  not  to  make 
mistakes.  On  the  deck,  ’way  aft,  Farragut  sat,  watch- 
ing the  waving  flags  and  occasionally  asking  for  the 
score.  The  roar  became  perfectly  deafening,  and  the 
ship  trembled  like  an  aspen.  Still  I kept  the  flags  go- 
ing, while  every  man  in  the  fleet  was  watching  and 


184  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

trying  to  keep  count.  At  last  I was  ordered  from  aloft 
and  the  tally  sheet  was  footed  up,  showing  that  the 
“ outs  ” had  it,  by  a large  majority. 

“ There,  David,”  said  Farragut  when  Commander 
Porter  came  aboard,  “ there’s  the  score.  I guess  we’ll 
go  up  the  river  to-night.” 

I remember  that  day  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  Every 
detail  of  the  order  of  advance  was  gone  over  for  the 
last  time.  As  originally  planned  the  ships  were  to  ad- 
vance double-column  abreast,  with  Farragut  at  the 
head  of  one  column  and  Captain  Bailey,  on  the  Oneida, 
to  lead  the  other.  But  Captain  Lee,  of  the  Oneida, 
had  asked  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  command  his 
own  vessel,  and  Commander  Harrison,  of  the  little 
gunboat  Cayuga,  had  immediately  asked  Bailey  to 
hoist  his  flag  on  that  vessel.  It  was  further  decided 
that,  as  the  opening  in  the  barrier  would  not  safely 
let  a double  column  pass  through,  especially  in  the 
dark,  the  vessels  should  advance  single  file,  and  Cap- 
tain Bailey,  with  Commander  Harrison  in  the  little 
Cayuga,  was  assigned  the  post  of  honour  at  the  head 
of  the  column.  Farragut  himself  selected  the  second 
division,  and  Fleet  Captain  Bell  was  to  lead  the  third. 
In  all,  there  were  to  be  seventeen  vessels  in  this  great 
naval  parade,  and  the  order  of  march  and  action  had 
been  gone  over  and  over  until  every  man  knew  his 
place  in  the  line,  just  what  was  expected  of  him,  and 
what  he  was  to  do  under  all  conditions.  In  closing  his 
orders  for  that  great  undertaking  Farragut  said : 

I wish  you  to  understand  that  the  day  is  at  hand  when 
you  will  be  called  upon  to  meet  the  enemy  in  the  worst 


With  Farragut  185 

form  for  our  profession.  You  must  be  prepared  to  exe- 
cute those  duties  to  which  you  have  been  so  long  trained 
without  having  the  opportunity  of  practising.  . . . Hot 
and  cold  shot  will,  no  doubt,  be  dealt  freely  to  us,  and 
there  must  be  stout  hearts  and  quick  hands  to  extinguish 
the  one  and  to  stop  the  holes  of  the  other. 


There  were  plenty  of  stout  hearts  and  quick  hands 
in  that  fleet,  but  on  one  or  two  of  the  vessels  there 
were  some  sad  hearts,  also.  There  were  men  among 
them  with  families  at  home,  and  though  they  were  will- 
ing enough  to  go  into  that  terrible  gateway,  they  were 
convinced  that  the  shot  intended  for  them  had  been 
cast. 

“ Mr.  Osbon,”  said  Farragut  that  afternoon,  point- 
ing to  a vessel  that  lay  near  us,  “ I hear  that  they  are 
as  blue  as  indigo  in  that  wardroom  over  there.  Go 
over  and  cheer  them  up.  Tell  them  some  stories  of 
the  fights  you’ve  been  in  and  come  out  of  alive.  It  will 
stir  their  blood  and  do  them  good.” 

I obeyed  orders,  and  it  may  be  I did  no  good ; but 
I think  the  boys  enjoyed  the  stories  and  certainly  the 
vessel  made  as  good  a record  as  any  in  the  fleet.  Yet 
Farragut  himself  was  not  without  his  misgivings  as 
to  our  probable  losses. 

“ What  do  you  estimate  our  casualties  will  be,  Mr. 
Osbon  ? ” he  said,  near  evening,  as  we  stood  on  the 
quarter-deck. 

“ Flag  Officer,”  I said,  “ I have  been  thinking  of 
that,  and  I believe  we  will  lose  a hundred.” 

That  was  a small  percentage  considering  that  we 
had  four  thousand  in  the  fleet,  and  he  looked  at  me 


1 86  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

with  a good  deal  of  surprise.  “ No  more  than  that?  ” 
he  said.  “ How  do  you  calculate  on  so  small  a 
number?  ” 

“ Well,”  I answered,  “ most  of  us  are  pretty  low  in 
the  water,  and,  being  near,  the  enemy  will  shoot  high. 
Then,  too,  we  will  be  moving  and  it  will  be  dark,  with 
dense  smoke.  Another  thing,  gunners  ashore  are  never 
as  accurate  as  gunners  aboard  a vessel.  I believe  a hun- 
dred men  will  cover  our  loss.” 

He  looked  at  me  steadily  a moment,  and  then,  a 
little  sadly,  said, 

“ I wish  I could  think  so.  I wish  I could  be  as  sure 
of  it  as  you  are.” 

He  took  a few  turns  up  and  down  the  deck,  while 
I looked  up  at  the  sky  to  see  what  were  the  prospects 
for  the  eventful  night.  As  I did  so,  I noticed  a great 
bird — a bald  eagle  it  proved — circling  above  the 
fleet. 

“ Look  there,  Flag  Officer,”  I called,  pointing  up- 
ward. “ That  is  ouf  national  emblem.  It  is  a sign  of 
victory.” 

He  came  and  stood  beside  me  and  we  watched  it  for 
some  time  together.  Somewhat  later — it  was  just  be- 
fore sunset — a Confederate  steamer  came  down  and 
took  a good  look  at  us  across  the  broken  chain.  As 
soon  as  she  was  gone  we  began  to  form  in  line  of 
battle. 

We  were  already  stripped  for  action,  and  each  man 
knew  his  position.  Vessels  dropped  into  place  and  the 
different  divisions  formed,  ready  to  swing  into  line 
at  the  given  hour  and  signal. 

As  the  sun  slipped  below  the  horizon  men  watched 


With  Farragut  187 

it  with  the  thought  of  what  we  would  pass  through 
before  it  again  appeared.  Ahead  of  us  lay  two  power- 
ful forts,  mounting  some  two  hundred  pieces  of  ar- 
tillery— a chain  barrier  in  which  there  was  but  a 
narrow  opening — a lot  of  dangerous  hulks — a dozen 
or  more  Confederate  gunboats,  well  armed — one  or 
more  rams — fire-rafts  without  number — a swift  oppos- 
ing current  and  a desperate  foe.  Certainly  there  were 
those  among  us  who  would  never  see  the  sun  again  in 
the  world ; and  orders  were  given  and  ships  took  their 
appointed  anchorage  without  much  bustle  or  display. 


g 


XXXI 

The  Passing  of  the  Forts 

4T  the  usual  hour  the  crews  turned  in,  but  I think 

L\  there  was  little  sleep.  The  men  were  cheerful 
JL  JL  and  determined,  but  wakeful.  Most  of  them 
had  been  green  hands  when  we  started,  and  scarcely 
one  of  them  had  been  under  fire.  With  a night  attack 
just  ahead  it  was  but  natural  that  they  should  be 
anxious. 

At  about  eleven  o’clock  the  Itasca  went  up  to  see  if 
the  opening  made  in  the  chain  was  still  unobstructed, 
and  a little  later  signalled  that  the  way  was  clear.  Over 
on  the  river  bank  the  mortars  were  pounding  away,  the 
bright  globes  circling  in  the  air.  With  us  all  was  quiet 
except  for  the  hiss  of  escaping  steam.  It  was  a pleas- 
ant night — clear  and  no  longer  cold.  The  moon  would 
rise  at  three  o’clock.  We  were  to  start  an  hour 
earlier. 

At  one,  precisely,  all  hands  were  called,  hammocks 
stowed,  and  everything  made  ready  to  weigh  anchors 
at  two.  It  was  a solemn  time.  Men  went  about  their 
duties,  thinking  of  many  things.  The  hour  seemed  but 
a few  moments.  On  the  stroke  of  two,  with  my  own 
hands  I hoisted  to  the  mizzen  peak  a pair  of  red  lan- 
terns, which  was  the  signal  to  get  under  way. 

Now,  this  is  the  order  and  manner  of  the  fighting 
that  night  below  New  Orleans,  April  24,  1862:  The 

188 


The  Passing  of  the  Forts  189 

little  Cayuga,  with  Captain  Theodoras  Bailey  and 
Commander  Napoleon  B.  Harrison,  headed  the  first 
division,  with  orders  to  receive,  but  not  to  return,  the 
fire  of  Fort  Jackson. 

“ I will  attend  to  Fort  Jackson,”  Farragut  had  said, 
“ you  fellows  make  straight  for  St.  Philip,  and  give  it 
to  them  as  you  go  by.” 

Behind  the  Cayuga  was  to  follow  the  sloop  of  war 
Pensacola,  with  Captain  Morris,  who  was  always  a 
deliberate  man  and  sometimes  annoyed  Farragut  with 
his  delays.  And  the  old  frigate  Mississippi  was  to  fol- 
low the  Pensacola,  with  Melancthon  Smith  in  com- 
mand, and  a young  executive  named  George  Dewey 
on  her  spar  deck;  while  behind  the  Mississippi  was 
ranged  Commander  Lee  with  the  Oneida,  another 
sloop  of  war.  Then  came  the  Varuna,  a converted 
merchantman,  which  with  Commander  Boggs  was  to 
make  a glorious  record  on  this  her  last  day,  and  be- 
hind the  Varuna,  the  Katahdin,  the  Kineo,  and  the 
Wissahickon,  all  little  gunboats  like  the  Cayuga,  with 
officers  Preble,  Ransom  and  Smith  in  command. 

Farragut  himself  chose  to  lead  the  second  division, 
which  was  made  up  of  our  flagship,  the  Hartford,  with 
Commander  Wainwright,  and  of  the  Brooklyn  with 
Commander  Craven,  and  the  Richmond  with  Com- 
mander Alden — our  three  finest  vessels — all  sloops  of 
war  and  the  pride  of  the  fleet. 

The  third  division  was  assigned  to  Fleet  Captain 
Bell,  who  hoisted  his  flag  on  the  little  Sciota,  com- 
manded by  Lieutenant  Donaldson,  while  the  Iroquois 
with  John  De  Camp,  came  next,  and  the  Kennebec 
with  Johnnie  Russell,  and  the  Pinola  with  Lieutenant 


i9°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Crosby,  and  the  Itasca,  with  Caldwell,  and  the  Winona 
with  Nichols,  all  little  gunboats,  small  and  noisy,  like 
the  tail  of  a rattler,  trailing  out  behind. 

Seventeen  there  were  of  us  altogether  when  I 
hoisted  the  two  red  lanterns,  and  almost  immediately 
the  Cayuga  had  her  anchors  up  and  was  away  into  the 
darkness.  It  seemed  that  she  had  scarcely  gone — she 
was  just  at  the  chain,  in  fact — when  a blaze  of  light 
and  a roar  from  Fort  Jackson  told  that  she  had  been 
discovered  and,  according  to  orders,  was  receiving, 
though  not  returning,  their  fire.  Then  a second  roar 
told  that  St.  Philip  had  opened,  and  then  at  last  we 
recognised  the  Cayuga’s  eleven-inch  forward  gun  in 
reply,  and  knew  she  had  so  far  lived,  and  that  the  fiery 
passage  of  the  forts  had  begun  at  last. 

The  Pensacola,  meantime,  always  deliberate,  had 
been  slow  getting  her  anchors,  and  the  Varuna  with 
Boggs,  and  the  Oneida  with  Lee,  and  the  old  frigate 
Mississippi  with  Melancthon  Smith,  and  with  young 
George  Dewey  on  the  spar  deck,  had  pushed  in  ahead ; 
and  the  Katahdin,  and  the  Kineo,  and  the  Wissahickon 
all  eager  for  battle  had  followed,  until  presently  the 
river  before  us  had  become  a sheet  of  sulphurous 
flame,  while  smoke,  thick  and  black,  came  drifting 
about  us  and  stirred  fiercely  our  fighting  blood  as  only 
the  smell  of  burning  powder  can. 

Still  the  Pensacola  fumbled  with  her  tangled  an- 
chors, and  our  Flag  Officer,  who  had  been  thus  far 
calm  and  cheerful,  responding  “ All  right,”  or  “ Thank 
you,  sir,”  as  I reported  the  sailing  of  each  vessel,  now 
began  to  chafe  at  the  delay  to  our  division. 

“ Damn  that  fellow ! I don’t  believe  he  wants  to 


The  Passing  of  the  Forts  191 

start!”  he  exclaimed  at  last,  but  just  then  old  slow- 
going  Morris  did  get  his  anchors  and  steered  away 
into  the  black  drift  ahead.  Then  a little  later  we  heard 
the  Pensacola’s  big  broadside  guns  roar,  and  roar,  and 
keep  roaring,  with  a regularity  and  deliberation  which 
convinced  us  that  Morris,  as  usual,  was  taking  his 
time,  and  perhaps  preferred  to  be  at  the  end  of  his 
division,  so  that  he  need  not  be  hurried  in  his  fighting 
and  could  pass  leisurely  along  the  fiery  way. 

But  it  was  now  our  turn  to  move,  and  without  fur- 
ther delay  we  pushed  into  the  black  folds  ahead, 
through  which  the  flash  and  thunder  came  back  inces- 
santly. It  was  just  half-past-three,  and  meantime  the 
moon  had  risen.  Such  light  as  came  from  it  aided 
very  little  in  that  dense  battle  smoke.  Carefully  we  felt 
our  way  through  the  opening  in  the  chain,  and  then 
all  at  once  the  enemy’s  guns  had  found  us,  too,  and 
solid  shot  was  screaming  overhead  and  fiery  shells 
were  bursting  around  us.  At  that  moment,  as  by  in- 
spiration, I hoisted  our  largest  Star  Spangled  Banner 
at  the  peak,  and  hastening  forward  decked  the  fore 
and  mainmasts  each  in  the  same  way. 

“ Why  do  you  do  that?  ” called  Farragut,  for  it  was 
unusual  to  have  the  colours  flying  at  night. 

“ Flag  Officer,”  I shouted  back,  “ I thought  if  we 
are  to  go  down,  it  would  look  well  to  have  our  colours 
flying  above  the  water!  ” 

“ All  right,”  he  returned,  and  presently  behind  us 
the  Brooklyn  and  the  Richmond,  and  the  others  had 
seen  our  flags  above  the  smoke,  and  had  their  colours 
flying,  too. 

A little  way  ahead  the  old  Pensacola  had  calmly 


192  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

stopped  her  engines  abreast  of  St.  Philip,  and  slowly 
and  with  great  precision  was  letting  go  broadside  after 
broadside,  as  if  upon  her  alone  rested  the  sole  responsi- 
bility of  demolishing  that  fort.  We  could  not  see  her, 
but  we  knew  her  guns,  and  her  deliberate  method  of 
firing. 

We  were  now  at  the  very  teeth  of  destruction,  but 
as  yet  had  not  fired  a shot.  It  was  our  orders  to  waste 
no  ammunition.  Farragut  had  ascended  to  the  port 
mizzen  rigging,  where  he  could  see  above  the  smoke 
and  watch  all  that  transpired.  With  his  feet  on  the  rat- 
lines and  his  back  against  the  shrouds,  he  stood  there 
as  cool  and  undisturbed  as  if  leaning  against  a mantel 
in  his  own  home.  All  of  Porter’s  mortars  were  going, 
and  the  crash  and  roar  of  the  guns  just  ahead  was 
something  tremendous,  but  he  seemed  to  heed  it  not 
at  all.  Twice  he  sent  me  to  see  that  all  the  gun  divi- 
sions were  ready;  then  he  called: 

“ Go  forward  and  see  if  the  bow  guns  will  bear.” 

A moment  later  I had  returned  with  the  information 
that  we  could  reach  them  with  one  gun. 

“ Tell  Captain  Wainwright  to  begin  firing,”  he  said 
quietly,  and  a shot  from  the  bow  gun  began  our  share 
of  the  battle.  “ Load  and  fire  at  will,”  was  the  next 
order,  and  immediately  after  we  were  “ attending  to 
Fort  Jackson,”  according  to  promise. 

It  had  taken  us  just  twenty-five  minutes  against  that 
heavy  current  to  arrive  at  a position  opposite  the  fort, 
and  we  were  now  given  their  fiercest  fire.  To  sink  the 
flagship  would  be  a great  achievement,  even  if  they 
were  conquered  in  the  end.  Behind  those  Confederate 
guns  were  brave  men,  and  they  did  their  best. 


Passing  of  the  Forts  193 

Shot,  shell,  grape,  and  canister  filled  the  air  with 
deadly  missiles.  It  was  like  the  breaking  up  of  the 
universe,  with  the  moon  and  all  the  stars  bursting  in 
our  midst.  As  for  seeing  what  the  other  vessels  were 
doing,  or  what  was  going  on  about  us,  that  was  im- 
possible. In  that  blinding  smoke,  and  night,  with 
everything  flying  in  all  directions,  the  only  thing  we 
could  see  was  the  flash  of  guns  in  our  faces  and  the 
havoc  on  our  own  ship.*  Ropes  were  swinging,  splin- 
ters were  flying.  I dimly  remember  that  once  the 
Brooklyn  swung  in  too  near  us  and  her  jibboom  car- 
ried away  my  “ harp  of  a thousand  strings  ” as  the 
Flag  Officer  had  called  it — an  arrangement  of  signal 
halyards  in  which  I took  great  pride.  I remember  that 
I used  violent  language  when  I saw  it  go,  and  shook 
my  fist  at  our  gallant  but  clumsy  consort  through  the 
flash  and  gloom. 

At  first  the  enemy’s  aim  had  been  high,  but  now 
they  lowered  it  until  their  fire  began  to  cut  us  through. 
Suddenly  a rifle  shell  pierced  the  mainmast  about  on 
a line  with  where  Farragut  stood  in  the  mizzen  rig- 
ging. Without  further  delay  I hurried  up  to  him 
and  begged  him  to  come  down,  but  he  refused  to 
do  so. 

“We  can’t  afford  to  lose  you,  Flag  Officer,”  I said. 
“ They’ll  get  you,  up  here,  sure.” 

I had  a pair  of  small  opera  glasses  and  I had  lent 
them  to  him,  for  they  were  handier  than  his  large 
binoculars. 

* “ Such  a fire  I imagine  the  world  has  rarely  seen,”  s^ys  Far- 
ragut in  his  report.  “ . . . It  was  as  if  the  artillery  of  heaven 
were  playing  upon  the  earth.” 


194  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

“ Flag  Officer,”  I insisted,  “ they’ll  break  my  opera 
glasses,  if  you  stay  up  here.” 

He  held  them  out  to  me  quite  seriously. 

“ Oh,  damn  the  glasses ! ” I said,  “ it’s  you  we  want. 
Come  down ! ” 

He  did  so  presently,  and  he  had  barely  left  his  place 
when  a shell  exploded  there  and  cut  away  a lot  of  rig- 
ging, just  where  he  had  stood. 

Steadily  we  steamed  on,  and  at  ten  minutes  past  four 
were  just  between  the  forts,  where  the  action  became 
still  more  general,  and  terrible.  Less  than  three-quar- 
ters of  a mile  apart — from  both  forts  at  once,  and 
from  water-batteries  above  and  below — thicker  and 
faster  came  shot  and  shell,  while  we  sent  back  grape, 
canister  and  shrapnel,  sweeping  their  parapets  of  gun- 
ners again  and  again. 

And  throughout  this  melee  and  carnage  the  business 
of  navigating  the  vessel  went  steadily  on.  The  sonor- 
ous cry  of  the  leadsmen  and  the  deep-voiced  orders  of 
Captain  Wainwright  to  the  man  at  the  helm  came  as 
calmly  through  the  roar  of  guns  and  riot  of  flame  as 
if  we  were  threading  the  uncertain  channel  on  a night 
of  peace. 

“ Quarter-less-five — Half-five — Quarter-less-four — ” 

The  leadsmen’s  intonations  came  steadily  through 
the  smoke  and  crash,  and  then,  deeply,  from  Captain 
Wainright, 

“ Starboard — ” and  the  vessel  would  slip  over  into 
safer  water.  That  men  never  before  under  fire  should 
maintain  the  calm  presence  of  mind  displayed  on  that 
occasion  I count  simply  amazing. 

It  is  quite  out  of  the  question  to  give  any  idea  of  the 


Passing  of  the  Forts  195 

fierceness  of  the  fire  at  this  time,  or  of  the  night  pic- 
ture we  made  there  in  the  midst  of  flame  and  smoke 
and  iron  hail. 

A shell  burst  on  our  deck,  the  concussion  stunning 
Lieutenant  George  Heisler  of  our  marine  corps.  I ran 
forward  to  see  what  damage  had  been  done,  when  the 
wind  of  another  shell  carried  away  my  cap.  For  some 
reason  it  made  me  wildly  furious.  I swung  my  arms 
and  vented  futile  rage  into  the  battle  smoke  at  the  men 
over  there  behind  the  guns. 

We  were  struck  now  on  all  sides.  A shell  entered 
our  starboard  beam,  cut  our  cable,  wrecked  our  ar- 
mory and  exploded  at  the  main  hatch,  killing  one  man 
instantly,  and  wounding  several  others.  Another  en- 
tered the  muzzle  of  a gun,  breaking  the  lip  and  killing 
the  sponger  who  was  in  the  act  of  “ ramming  home.” 
A third  entered  the  boatswain’s  room,  destroying 
everything  in  its  path  and,  exploding,  killed  a coloured 
servant  who  was  passing  powder. 

Death  and  destruction  seemed  everywhere.  Men’s 
faces  were  covered  with  powder-black  and  daubed  with 
blood.  They  had  become  like  a lot  of  demons  in  a wild 
inferno,  working  fiercely  at  the  business  of  death. 
Suddenly  out  of  the  gloom  ahead  appeared  a Con- 
federate steamer,  her  deck  loaded  with  troops,  who 
opened  on  us  with  a volley  of  musketry.  There  was 
no  time  to  be  lost.  Our  howitzers  instantly  replied, 
and  Lieutenant  John  Broome  of  the  marine  corps 
trained  two  nine-inch  guns  on  her  and  let  go.  We  saw 
the  shells  strike.  Then  followed  an  explosion,  horri- 
fied yells,  a sudden  careen,  and  the  waters  of  the 
Mississippi  had  covered  her  and  all  on  board. 


196  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

We  now  realised  that  Bailey’s  division  was  fiercely 
engaged  with  the  enemy’s  gunboats  just  ahead,  sink- 
ing and  burning  them — for,  one  after  another,  blazing 
Confederate  craft  came  drifting  down  the  tide,  among 
them  a huge  fire-raft,  attended  by  the  ram  Manassas, 
which  was  pushing  and  butting  it  toward  the  Hartford. 

It  was  4.15  by  the  watch  lashed  to  my  sleeve,  where 
I kept  my  notes — it  being  my  double  duty  as  Flag 
Officer’s  clerk  and  as  correspondent  to  record  the  prog- 
ress of  the  battle — and  we  were  just  abreast  of  Fort 
St.  Philip,  close  up — our  howitzers  in  the  tops  sweep- 
ing the  parapets,  our  broadsides  pounding  at  her  big 
guns,  when  at  this  critical  moment,  with  the  fort  on 
one  hand  and  the  fire-raft  on  the  other,  we  went 
aground. 

This  was  indeed  a crisis.  The  ram,  seeing  our  pre- 
dicament, promptly  shoved  the  blazing  raft  under  our 
port  quarter,  and  in  an  instant  our  rigging  and  the 
side  of  our  vessel  had  caught  fire.  Another  fire  at  this 
moment  was  started  by  a shell  exploding  in  a locker 
filled  with  ditty-boxes  * down  on  the  berth  deck,  and 
for  a time  it  seemed  that  our  end  had  come.  There  was 
prompt  action  at  the  hose,  but  I realised  that  some- 
thing had  to  be  done  with  the  fire-raft  instantly.  Some 
twenty-pound  rifle  shells  were  lying  handy,  and  I 
rolled  three  of  them  to  the  waterways  just  above  the 
blazing  scow.  It  was  fiercely  hot  there,  and  I threw 
a heavy  coat  over  my  head,  and,  leaning  down,  began 
uncapping  the  shells.  I had  two  of  them  ready  when 
F'arragut  came  over  to  see  what  I was  at.  As  I was 
covered  with  the  coat,  he  could  only  see  that  I was 

*A  receptacle  where  sailors  keep  trinkets,  needle,  thread,  etc. 


The  Passing  of  the  Forts  197 

upon  my  knees,  and  he  may  have  remembered  that  my 
father  was  a minister,  for  he  said : 

“ Come,  Mr.  Osbon,  this  is  no  time  for  prayer ! ” 

I got  the  cap  off  of  the  third  shell  just  then,  but  I 
paused  long  enough  to  say, 

“ Flag  Officer,  if  you’ll  wait  a second  you’ll  get  the 
quickest  answer  to  prayer  ever  you  heard  of,”  and  I 
rolled  the  three  shells  into  the  burning  raft.  Almost 
instantly  they  exploded  with  a great  noise,  tearing  a 
wide  hole  in  the  fire-raft  and  giving  the  little  ironclad 
such  a scare  that  she  backed  off  with  her  sinking 
charge,  delivering  a parting  shot  from  her  single 
gun.*  The  hose  was  at  work  by  this  time  and  our  own 
flames  were  quickly  extinguished;  also  the  fire  from 
St.  Philip  had  slackened  somewhat,  for  our  smudge- 
faced gunners  and  those  of  vessels  pushing  by  us  had 
kept  up  an  unceasing  and  overwhelming  fire.f 

It  was  a full  twenty  minutes  that  we  lay  there 

*This  shot  embedded  itself  in  our  rudder  post,  and  is  now 
preserved  in  the  Brooklyn  Navy  Yard. 

fThe  late  Admiral  Boggs  used  to  delight  in  relating  a story 
told  him  by  Farragut,  called  “ Osbon’ s Prayer.”  Farragut  seeing 
an  officer  kneeling  by  the  poop-plank  shear  shouted  out,  “ Come, 
sir,  this  is  no  time  for  prayer ! ” The  officer  addressed  was 
B.  S.  Osbon,  Farragut’ s signal  clerk,  who,  seeing  the  great  peril 
the  ship  was  in,  put  an  overcoat  that  lay  in  the  signal  locker 
over  his  head  to  prevent  the  flames  from  burning  him,  and 
rolled  three  twenty-pound  rifle  shells  up  under  the  curling  flames, 
deftly  uncapped  them,  and  just  as  Farragut  chided  him  for  his 
prayers  at  such  a time,  threw  them  over  the  side  into  the  fire- 
raft,  and  in  five  seconds  they  had  exploded,  tearing  out  the 
sides  of  the  raft.  After  the  explosion  of  the  shells  water 
rushed  into  the  raft  and  she  sank. — From  “ Records  and  Battles 
of  Admiral  George  Dewey,”  by  M.  F.  Tobin,  Commander  of  the 
Associated  Veterans  of  Farragut’s  Fleet. 


198  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

abreast  of  St.  Philip.  Then  our  engineers  got  us  off, 
and,  still  followed  by  the  fire  of  the  forts,  we  pushed 
on  toward  the  battle  with  the  fleet,  which  we  could 
hear  going  on  just  above.  But  Bailey’s  division  had 
attended  to  the  matter  well.  The  battle  was  nearly 
over.  Everywhere  Confederate  vessels  were  sinking 
— burning  holes  in  the  night.  On  both  shores  and  in 
the  stream  they  lay.  We  knew  that  wonderful  fighting 
had  been  going  on  up  there,  but  we  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve our  eyes.  Of  a fleet  of  eighteen,  including  rams 
and  a powerful  ironclad,  the  Louisiana,  but  three  or 
four  had  survived,  and  these  were  disabled  or  retreat- 
ing— falling  out  of  the  fight.  The  plucky  little  ram 
Manassas  was  still  afloat,  and  made  one  more  attempt 
to  damage  the  Union  fleet,  ramming  here  and  there 
as  best  she  could,  though  now  with  little  result. 

“ Signal  the  Mississippi  to  sink  that  damn  thing,” 
commanded  Farragut,  and  a minute  later  the  old 
craft — with  young  George  Dewey,  executive,  still  on 
the  spar  deck — was  after  her,  and  coming  alongside 
plunged  an  entire  broadside  through  her  armour.  Sink- 
ing rapidly,  the  ram  made  for  the  shore,  where  thirty 
men  ran  out  of  her  gun  port  and  escaped  to  the  woods. 
Another  volley  or  two  was  poured  into  her,  and  she 
drifted  down  between  the  forts,  sinking  lower  and 
lower  in  the  water.  That  ended  the  great  battle  of  the 
24th  of  April.  We  had  met  the  enemy  “ in  the  worst 
form  for  our  profession,”  and  still  at  our  mastheads — 
shot  through  and  ribboned,  but  radiant  with  sunrise 
and  victory — our  colours  bannered  to  the  morning 
sky. 


XXXII 

The  March  of  the  Victors 


,L  our  vessels  but  three  had  passed  above  the 


forts.  The  brave  little  Itasca  early  in  the  fight 


had  received  a shot  through  her  boiler  which 
made  it  impossible  for  her  to  proceed;  the  Winona 
and  the  Kennebec  had  become  entangled  in  the  chain- 
hulks  and  had  been  unable  to  extricate  themselves  be- 
fore daylight,  when  it  would  have  been  almost  certain 
destruction  to  attempt  the  passage.  The  Winona,  in 
fact,  lost  almost  an  entire  gun’s  crew  in  making  the 
effort,  and  the  Kennebec  prudently  withdrew.*  Of  the 
vessels  that  had  passed  the  forts,  every  one  had  been 
pierced  through  and  through,  and  one,  the  Varuna, 
Commander  Boggs,  had  been  struck  by  two  rams  and 
sunk,  though  not  before  she  had  destroyed  or  driven 
ashore  three  vessels,  and  had  kept  her  guns  going  un- 
til the  carriages  were  covered  with  water,  disabling 
one  of  her  assailants  and  destroying  the  other — five 
to  her  credit  in  all.  Then  she  was  run  ashore,  and  her 
crew,  including  the  wounded,  saved. 

I should  like  to  recount  here  the  exploits  of  every 

* The  vessels  which  were  unable  to  pass  attached  themselves 
to  Commodore  Porter’s  fleet  below  the  forts,  which,  besides  the 
mortar  flotilla,  consisted  of  the  Harriet  Lane,  Westfield,  Owasco, 
Clifton,  and  Miami,  and  the  Portsmouth,  towed  by  the  Jackson. 
This  division  lay  on  the  west  bank,  just  below  Fort  Jackson,  and 
enfiladed  the  works  with  a hot  fire. 


200  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

vessel  in  our  noble  fleet,  but  I can  find  room  for  only 
a few.  The  Cayuga , which  bore  the  flag  of  Theodorus 
Bailey,  and  led  the  way,  must  come  first  of  these : 

She  made  no  reply  to  the  guns  of  Fort  Jackson,  but 
held  her  fire  until  close  up  with  St.  Philip,  when  she 
let  go  with  grape  and  canister,  still  steering  on.  The 
little  gunboat  was  struck  from  stem  to  stern.  Shot 
after  shot  went  through  her,  though  without  reaching 
a vital  spot  or  checking  her  progress.  Then  all  at  once, 
just  above  St.  Philip,  she  was  surrounded  by  the 
“ Montgomery  Flotilla  ” — the  enemy’s  fleet,  consist- 
ing of  sixteen  gunboats,  many  of  them  with  iron 
prows,  the  ram  Manassas,  and  the  floating  iron  bat- 
tery Louisiana,  of  twenty  guns.  It  was  an  anxious 
moment,  for  no  supporting  vessel  was  in  sight.  Yet 
the  little  Cayuga  did  not  hesitate.  The  forts  had  been 
found  impregnable.  Here,  at  least,  was  something 
that  would  sink.  “ This,”  says  Bailey  in  his  report, 
“ was  hot  but  more  congenial  work.” 

Three  large  steamers  attempted  to  board  him — num- 
ber one  on  the  starboard  bow — number  two  astern — 
number  three  on  the  starboard  beam.  That  was  as 
many  as  could  get  around  him,  and  the  fire  was  pour- 
ing in.  But  just  here  the  Cayuga’s  eleven-inch  Dahl- 
gren  went  off  in  the  direction  of  number  three  at  a 
point-blank  range  of  thirty  yards. 

The  effect  was  something  tremendous.  “ He  im- 
mediately steered  in  shore,”  says  Bailey,  “ ran  aground 
and  burnt  himself  up.”  The  forecastle  gun  settled  the 
enemy  in  that  quarter,  the  remaining  vessel  being  now 
so  close  that  the  Cayuga’s  crew  prepared  to  repel 
boarders.  It  did  not  come  to  this.  The  guns  did  the 


The  March  of  the  Victors  201 

work,  and  before  the  remainder  of  the  Confederate 
flotilla  could  close  on  the  Cayuga,  Boggs  with  the 
swift,  ill-fated  Varuna  and  Lee  with  the  Oneida  came 
dashing  up,  and  with  the  Cayuga  quickly  made  a fin- 
ish of  eleven  of  the  enemy’s  fleet,  sinking  and  burning 
them  in  all  directions.  Then  the  Cayuga  discovered 
a Confederate  camp  on  the  right  shore,  and  steering 
in  close,  shouted  to  the  colonel  to  pile  up  his  arms  on 
the  river  bank  and  come  aboard,  which  he  promptly 
did.  The  Cayuga  had  forty-two  holes  through  her, 
when  all  was  over,  and  six  wounded  men — but  not  a 
man  was  killed.* 

Though  the  Pensacola  did  not  take  her  appointed 
place  in  the  line  of  battle,  I will  add  another  word  of 
her  movements  here.  Always  deliberate,  she  made  not 
the  least  haste  either  in  her  firing  or  her  progress. 
Here  and  there  abreast  of  the  forts,  where  it  was  hot- 
test, she  stopped  her  engines  and  poured  in  carefully 
aimed  broadsides,  which  probably  did  more  damage 
than  those  of  any  other  vessel  in  the  fleet.  Once  she 
was  struck  by  the  ram  Manassas,  which,  however, 

* Commander  N.  B.  Harrison,  of  the  Cayuga,  gives  it  to  us 
in  a nut-shell.  “ At  2 a.  m.,  in  obedience  to  the  Flag  Officer’s 
signal,  weighed  anchor,  led  the  column  toward  the  barrier,  and 
stood  up  stream,  close  to  Fort  St.  Philip.  At  2.45  both  forts 
opened  their  fire.  At  2.50  opened  on  Fort  St.  Philip  with  grape 
and  canister.  At  3 passed  the  line  of  fire  of  Fort  St.  Philip, 
and  encountered  some  eleven  gunboats,  no  supporting  ships  in 
sight.  At  3.25  one  steamer  surrendered,  and  two  more  were 
driven  on  shore.  At  this  moment  discovered  the  Varuna  and 
Oneida  dash  gallantly  into  the  fight.  At  5 anchored  in  front  of 
Camp  Lovell  and  received  the  submission  of  Colonel  Szymanski 
and  his  command.” 

Here,  in  the  space  of  a little  more  than  a hundred  words,  we 
have  material  for  as  many  historical  novels. 


202  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

sheered  off  without  doing  serious  hurt — receiving  a 
destructive  broadside  as  it  passed.  When  the  Pensa- 
cola concluded  that  she  had  done  her  duty,  thoroughly 
and  professionally,  so  far  as  the  forts  were  concerned, 
she  went  up  into  the  naval  fight  and  took  off  part  of  the 
crew  from  the  sinking  Varuna.  The  unhurried  prog- 
ress of  the  Pensacola  made  her  a target  for  the  en- 
emy’s fire.  She  had  many  shot  holes  and  a total  of 
thirty-seven  killed  and  wounded — more  than  any  other 
vessel  of  the  fleet. 

The  Brooklyn  came  next  in  the  list  of  casualties. 
Her  place  was  behind  the  Hartford,  but  in  the  dark- 
ness and  blinding  smoke  she  lost  sight  of  us  and  be- 
came entangled  in  the  chain-hulks.  When  she  was 
finally  rid  of  these  she  lost  herself  once  more  in  the 
dense  clouds  which  we  left  behind  us,  and  coming 
upon  us  suddenly,  carried  away  my  signal  halyards. 
Meantime  she  had  been  raked  by  Fort  Jackson,  had 
sunk  a venturesome  Confederate  steamer,  and  now, 
blinded  by  the  fire-raft  and  butted  by  the  ram,  came 
blundering  over  toward  St.  Philip,  where  in  thirteen 
feet  of  water  she  engaged  and  temporarily  silenced 
that  fort.  She  got  out  at  last,  only  to  be  attacked  by 
other  steamers,  into  which  she  poured  death-dealing 
broadsides.  Her  progress  had  been  eccentric  but  effec- 
tive, and  her  killed  and  wounded  totalled  thirty-five 
men. 

I should  like  to  speak  of  more  of  the  vessels — of 
the  Oneida,  which  ran  in  so  close  to  St.  Philip  that 
she  was  below  the  angle  of  the  enemy’s  guns,  of  the 
Iroquois , which  made  a gallant  record,  arriving  above 
the  forts  in  time  to  sink  a number  of  the  enemy’s  fleet, 


The  March  of  the  Victors  203 

of  the  old  frigate  Mississippi,  whose  course  was  di- 
rected by  the  man  who  was  one  day  to  conquer  at 
Manila — of  the  sloop  of  war  Richmond;  of  the 
Katahdin , the  Kineo,  and  the  Wissahickon ; of  the 
Sciota,  and  the  Pinola — that  small  and  noisy  division 
that,  like  the  tail  of  a rattler,  yet  stinging  and  savage 
like  the  cracker  of  a whip,  came  trailing  out  behind. 
All  the  vessels  did  brave  work — all  were  struck  and 
torn,  nearly  all  lost  men. 

It  was  five  o’clock  when  we  came  to  anchor  off 
Quarantine  above  the  forts. 

“ Make  the  signal  to  report  casualties,  Mr.  Osbon,” 
said  the  Flag  Officer,  and  one  by  one  as  the  vessels 
collected  they  sent  up  their  flags  in  reply.  Throughout 
the  battle  Farragut’s  one  anxiety  had  seemed  to  be 
for  the  safety  of  his  men.  Now  and  then,  when  I re- 
ported to  him  how  few  had  fallen  on  our  own  vessel 
he  had  said  fervently,  “ Thank  God ! ” When  he  had 
seen  the  Varuna  sinking,  his  first  exclamation  was,  “ I 
pray  that  Boggs  and  his  people  are  safe ! ” He  stood 
by  me  now,  as  the  reports  came  in,  anxiously  watch- 
ing the  figures  I set  down.  When  they  were  many,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  Brooklyn  and  Pensacola,  he  sighed 
deeply.  When  they  were  few  he  breathed  thanks. 
When  the  list  was  made  up  and  a total  of  twenty-four 
killed  and  eighty-six  wounded  were  reported  he  ut- 
tered a fervent  exclamation  of  gratitude.*  I had  un- 
derestimated by  ten  men.  His  chief  concern  now  was 
for  the  Winona,  the  Itasca,  and  the  Kennebec,  of 

* The  total  Union  loss,  killed  and  wounded,  in  all  the  actions 
below  New  Orleans  eventually  footed  up  about  one  hundred  and 
eighty.  The  Confederate  loss  was  many  times  that  number. 


204  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

whose  fate  we  knew  nothing.  Our  fear  was  that  they 
had  been  sunk,  and  Farragut  immediately  dispatched 
Captain  Boggs  with  one  of  the  gunboats  through  the 
Quarantine  Bayou  to  learn  what  was  possible  of  the 
missing  vessels,  as  well  as  to  report  our  success  to 
Commander  Porter,*  also  to  notify  General  Butler 
that  the  way  was  now  clear  for  him  to  bring  up  troops 
through  the  bayou,  as  the  enemy  had  nothing  left  but 
the  forts,  and  these — their  supplies  cut  off  and  of  no 
service  to  their  cause — must  speedily  surrender.  They 
did  so,  in  fact,  to  Commander  Porter,  next  day. 

We  lay  off  Quarantine  all  day  on  the  24th,  resting. 
Yet  it  was  a busy  day.  Commanding  officers  came 
aboard  the  flagship  to  exchange  congratulations,  and 
to  pay  tribute  to  the  brave,  capable  man  who  had  made 
the  great  victory  possible.  He  received  them  in  the 
most  quiet,  modest  manner,  saying  to  each  that  it  was 
his  officers  and  men  who  had  won  the  battle.  To  us 
in  that  moment  he  seemed  the  greatest  hero  of  the 
ages.  If  permitted,  we  would  have  cheered  him  all  day 
long.  That  evening  we  steamed  up  to  the  English  Turn, 
not  far  below  New  Orleans,  and  halted  there  to  give 
the  men  a night’s  rest,  for,  according  to  report,  there 
were  yet  two  more  strong  works — the  Chalmette  Bat- 
teries— to  pass.  I slept  on  deck  that  night,  to  receive 
or  send  any  emergency  signals,  and  on  the  only  occa- 
sion I had  need  to  report  to  Farragut,  found  him  sleep- 
ing as  quietly  as  a babe. 

*In  his  letter  to  Commander  Porter,  Farragut  said: 

“We  had  a rough  time  of  it,  as  Boggs  will  tell  you,  but,  thank 
God,  the  number  of  killed  and  wounded  was  very  small  consid- 
ering. . . . You  supported  us  most  nobly.” 


The  March  of  the  Victors  205 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  25th  we  had  our  an- 
chors up  and  were  away,  but  once  more  the  little  wasp 
of  a Cayuga  was  on  ahead,  and,  before  we  could  get 
within  a mile  of  her,  was  lying  bow  and  stern  across 
the  batteries,  they  raking  her,  she  giving  it  to  them 
with  her  eleven-inch  and  Parrott  guns.  I have  never 
seen  a more  daring  thing  than  that  little  gunboat  lying 
there  alone  in  broad  daylight,  engaging  two  forts. 
Fifteen  minutes  later  we  were  beside  her,  but  it  was 
not  immediately  that  we  could  bring  our  guns  to  bear. 
Gradually  we  worked  around  until  our  port  broadside 
could  be  used,  and,  taking  careful  aim,  let  it  go  alto- 
gether, permanently  closing  the  incident  so  far  as  the 
battery  on  that  bank  was  concerned.  The  Pensacola, 
the  Brooklyn,  and  the  little  Sciota  meantime  had  come 
up,  and  had  promptly  attended  to  the  works  on  the 
east  shore.  On  both  sides  the  batteries  were  being  de- 
serted— men  running  in  all  directions.  Two  on  horse- 
back attracted  my  attention.  They  were  within  easy 
range,  and  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  I picked 
up  a rifle  and  drew  a bead  on  the  forward  man.  Then, 
just  in  time,  I remembered  what  such  an  action  would 
be,  and  dropped  the  gun.  Nearly  forty  years  later,  at 
a meeting  of  veterans  of  both  sides  in  New  York  City, 
I told  this  incident,  and  a man  ran  up  and  grabbed  me 
by  the  hand. 

“ My  God ! ” he  said,  “ I was  the  front  man  on  that 
horse!  You  saved  my  life.” 

There  was  no  further  interference  with  our  progress 
toward  New  Orleans,  and  we  went  up  as  in  a parade 
of  triumph.  On  either  side  of  the  river  were  fine  plan- 
tations, and  some  of  these  were  owned  by  loyal  people. 


206  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Now  that  they  could  safely  do  so,  they  had  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  floating  from  their  beautiful  old  mansions, 
and  returned  our  cheers  and  wavings.  Even  where 
we  were  regarded  with  scorn  by  men  and  women  col- 
lected on  the  front  verandas  to  see  us  pass,  there  would 
be  a group  of  negroes  in  the  rear,  making  silent  but 
joyous  gesticulations  of  welcome.  Below  the  Chal- 
mette  Batteries,  when  we  were  close  in  shore,  a very 
old  darkey  with  a carpet  bag  and  an  umbrella  had  fol- 
lowed along  the  levee,  shouting  praises  to  the  Yankee 
fleet  and  to  his  Maker,  until  suddenly  the  guns  of  the 
Cayuga  opened,  when  with  a wild  whoop  he  dis- 
appeared as  if  hit  by  a shell.  I thought  Farragut 
would  laugh  himself  sick. 

We  were  now  greeted  with  dense  smoke  and  burn- 
ing craft  of  every  description.  The  mob  at  New  Or- 
leans, in  anticipation  of  our  arrival,  were  destroying 
whatever  fire  would  consume.  Steamers  loaded  with 
cotton,  blazing  and  smoking,  went  drifting  by,  and 
vessels  of  every  kind.  Large  ships  had  been  fired  and 
cut  adrift  to  float  down  upon  us,  and  as  a heavy  shower 
had  now  begun,  the  smoke  became  dense,  almost  blind- 
ing. Then  we  were  abreast  the  city,  and  I hope  I may 
never  live  to  see  another  such  destruction  of  property, 
such  a wild,  indiscriminate  burning,  such  a futile  and 
useless  outburst  of  invective  and  denunciation  as 
greeted  our  eyes  and  ears  when  we  came  to  anchor 
off  New  Orleans — when  the  men  and  women  of  that 
city  looked  across  incendiary  flames  and  smoke  of 
their  burning  stores  at  the  red,  white  and  blue  of  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner  once  more  floating  on  the 
breeze.  Their  fury  was  beyond  bounds.  A little  party 


The  March  of  the  Victors  207 

on  shore  who  waved  a white  flag  and  cheered  for  the 
Union,  was  assaulted  and  several  persons  killed.* 

On  the  twenty-sixth  I accompanied  a force  up  the 
river  to  Carrollton,  where  there  were  two  forts  of  re- 
ported strength,  but  panic  had  gone  before  us.  ,We 
found  the  guns  deserted  and  spiked  and  the  gun  car- 
riages in  flames.  On  the  same  day  the  city  formally 
surrendered,  and  the  American  flag  had  been  hoisted 
over  the  custom  house. 

You  will  . . . proceed  up  the  Mississippi  River, 

and  reduce  the  defences  which  guard  the  approaches  to 
New  Orleans,  when  you  will  appear  off  that  city  and 
take  possession  of  it  under  the  guns  of  your  squadron, 
and  hoist  the  American  flag  therein,  keeping  possession 
until  troops  can  be  sent  you. 

These  had  been  Farragut’s  orders.  He  had  obeyed 
them  to  the  letter. 

* In  Farragut’s  reports  he  says : “ I have  never  witnessed  such 
vandalism  in  my  life  as  the  destruction  of  property.  . . . 
Ships,  steamers,  cotton,  coal,  were  all  in  one  common  blaze.” 


XXXIII 

Bearing  the  News  Northward 

IT  was  decided  that  Captain  Theodoras  Bailey, 
with  Commander  Boggs  (now  without  a ship) 
should  be  the  bearer  of  despatches  to  Washing- 
ton, and  I was  permitted  by  Flag  Officer  Farragut  to 
accompany  them.  The  little  Cayuga  was  selected  for 
the  trip,  and  we  sailed  April  29th.  As  I left  the  Hart- 
ford to  go  aboard  the  Cayuga , the  sailors  of  the  flag- 
ship manned  the  rigging  and  gave  me  three  cheers.* 
It  was  a beautiful  and  unexpected  tribute  of  good-bye, 
and  this,  with  the  Flag  Officer’s  mention,!  has  been 
always  my  most  precious  reward  for  services  which 
were  performed  with  no  idea  of  compensation,  and,  in- 
deed, were  no  more  than  would  gladly  have  been  ren- 
dered by  every  man  on  that  noble  ship.  There  was  no 
monopoly  on  courage  in  that  fleet.  Every  man  had  it 
and  had  looked  into  the  fiery  face  of  death  without  a 

* At  3 p.  m.  Mr.  Osbon,  flag-lieutenant  (signal  officer),  left  the 
ship  to  go  on  board  the  Cayuga;  as  he  was  leaving,  gave  him 
three  cheers. — “ Cruise  of  the  U.  S.  flag-ship  Hartford,”  by 
William  C.  Holton,  ship’s  yeoman. 

f “ And  those  who  were  around  me — the  signat  officer,  my  clerk, 
Mr.  Osbo(r)n,  Messrs.  Bache  and  Wardell,  captain’s  clerks,  and 
Master’s  Mate  Allen,  who  had  charge  of  the  twenty-pounder 
gun  (an  apprentice  boy),  all  did  their  duty  well,”  etc. — Report 
No.  88,  Flag  Officer  Farragut  to  Secretary  Welles. 

208 


Bearing  the  News  Northward  209 

tremor.  If  my  shipmates  had  an  impulse  to  cheer  me, 
I suspect  that  it  was  more  for  the  reason  that  I had 
entertained  them  somewhat  and  made  myself  useful 
among  them  during  the  days  below  the  forts,  than  for 
anything  I may  have  achieved  during  the  hot  and 
spectacular  passage  which  followed. 

It  was  three  o’clock  when  I went  aboard  the  Ca- 
yuga, and  a little  later  we  set  off  down  the  river,  fol- 
lowed by  the  cheers  of  the  entire  fleet. 

General  Butler  was  at  the  Quarantine  station  at 
this  time,  and  it  was  our  orders  to  notify  him  that  we 
were  going  North,  and  to  stop  long  enough  for  him  to 
prepare  any  letters  he  might  wish  to  send.  It  was  night 
when  we  arrived  off  the  hospital  buildings,  and  I was 
sent  ashore  to  notify  Butler,  and  to  wait  for  the 
letters. 

The  boat  pulled  alongside  the  wharf  and  I walked 
toward  the  buildings,  surprised  at  not  being  chal- 
lenged. In  a room  on  the  right  hand  sat  two  or  three 
officers,  who  were  considerably  surprised  at  seeing  a 
stranger  in  naval  uniform  appear  suddenly  in  their 
midst.  They  rose  hastily,  but  before  they  could  speak 
I stated  my  name  and  errand.  Then  one  of  them 
merely  waved  toward  the  end  of  the  hall. 

“ You  will  find  the  General  in  that  room,”  he 
said. 

Whatever  General  Butler’s  discipline  may  have 
been  later,  at  New  Orleans,  it  certainly  was  lax 
enough  here.  I went  to  the  end  of  the  hall,  opened  the 
door,  and  there,  stretched  on  a hospital  cot,  was  a fat 
man,  sleeping  noisily.  On  a chair  at  his  side  was  a 
bottle  bearing  the  legend  “ S.  T.  i860.  X.,”  and  in 


210  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

the  neck  a flaring  tallow  candle,  burned  almost  down 
to  the  glass.  The  sleeper  was  only  partly  covered.  His 
head  was  encased  in  a red  nightcap.  I spoke  to  him, 
but  he  did  not  hear  me.  Then  I called  in  a loud  voice, 
“ General  Butler ! ” 

He  turned  over,  fixed  that  peculiar  eye  of  his  on 
me  and  said : “ Well,  who  are  you?  ” 

“ Mr.  Osbon,”  I said,  “ from  the  Hartford.  The 
Cayuga  is  here,  going  North  with  despatches.  Flag 
Officer  Farragut  presents  compliments,  and  has  asked 
me  to  say  that  if  you  have  a few  letters  to  write  we 
will  wait  and  carry  them  North  for  you.” 

The  General  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant — a pic- 
ture worthy  of  canvas.  A moment  later  and  the  build- 
ing was  in  an  uproar.  He  was  shouting  for  clerks  and 
aides,  and  they  came  rushing  in.  He  commanded  his 
aides  to  give  out  the  word  that  there  was  an  oppor- 
tunity to  write  letters.  Then  with  three  or  four  of  his 
clerks  seated  at  different  tables  he  began  dictating  his 
own  correspondence,  walking  from  one  to  the  other, 
keeping  all  the  different  letters  going  at  once,  in  a 
way  which  to  me  seemed  marvellous.  He  was  in  a con- 
tinuous circle  of  correspondence,  as  it  were,  and  how 
he  could  keep  up  the  continuity  of  the  various  letters, 
I cannot  understand  to  this  day.  Ludicrous  as  he 
looked,  I acquired  more  respect  for  him  that  night 
than  I had  known  on  any  previous  occasion.  At  the 
end  of  an  hour  I had  an  armful  of  letters,  and  we  pro- 
ceeded on  our  way  down  the  river,  past  the  now 
friendly  forts — the  way  between  starlit  and  peaceful, 
where  all  so  recently  had  been  flame  and  battle  smoke 
— down  through  the  passes,  and  out  to  sea. 


Bearing  the  News  Northward  21 1 

That  was  a memorable  trip,  on  the  Cayuga . No 
better  or  more  companionable  men  than  Captains 
Bailey  * and  Boggs  ever  lived,  and  our  passage  was  a 
continual  round  of  reminiscence  and  pleasant  recrea- 
tion. 

Of  course  our  talk  was  chiefly  of  recent  events, 
but,  as  I remember  it  now,  there  was  much  less  refer- 
ence to  recent  dangers  and  deeds  of  valour  than  to  the 
humorous  incidents  of  the  fight,  or  at  least  to  what 
now  appeared  proper  food  for  mirth.  Perhaps  what 
amused  us  most  was  an  incident  which  had  occurred 
to  the  coloured  boy  of  the  Cayuga . He  had  been  pass- 
ing powder  when  a spent  grapeshot  had  struck  a cast- 
ing near  him  and  shattered,  half  of  it  striking  him 

* Such  was  my  admiration  for  Captain  Theodorus  Bailey,  that 
somewhat  later  I made  application  for  service  under  his  com- 
mand, receiving  the  following  reply: 

57  E.  23d  St.,  New  York  City. 

Dear  Sir  : — In  answer  to  your  letter,  it  affords  me  pleasure 
to  testify  to  the  fact  that  you  served  with  Flag  Officer  Farragut 
in  the  flagship  Hartford  as  volunteer  clerk  and  signal  officer 
during  the  expedition  and  battles  in  the  river  ending  in  the  cap- 
ture of  New  Orleans.  And  Flag  Officer  Farragut  told  me  he 
found  you  one  of  the  most  useful  persons  on  board,  intelligent, 
and  full  of  resources.  A passage  home  was  granted  you  in  the 
gunboat  Cayuga. 

Your  courage,  deportment,  and  efficiency  in  the  Hartford  were 
highly  and  generally  appreciated  from  the  fact  that  I saw  them 
give  you  three  cheers  on  leaving  (all  the  ships  manned  the  rig- 
ging and  cheered  you  as  you  passed  by  them).  In  case  I am 
ordered  in  command  of  a squadron  it  would  afford  me  pleasure  to 
have  you  join  me  as  secretary,  volunteer  aide,  or  in  any  staff 
capacity  that  the  regulations  or  usages  of  the  service  will  allow. 

Respectfully  your  obedient  servant, 

Theodorus  Bailey,  Captain , U.  S.  N . 

To  Mr.  B.  S.  Osborn , New  York. 


212  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

plump  in  the  forehead.  I suppose  his  frontal  bone  was 
thick  there,  for  the  piece  of  shot  had  dropped  to  the 
deck  without  doing  any  special  injury  beyond  a bruise, 
and  the  plucky  coloured  boy  had  paused  long  enough 
to  pick  up  the  missile  and  pocket  it  for  future  refer- 
ence. When  the  fight  had  ended,  and  different  ones  of 
the  crew  had  recounted  their  various  accidents  and 
escapes,  the  little  fellow  (he  was  not  more  than  four- 
teen) stepped  up  and  pulled  the  half  grapeshot  from 
his  pocket. 

“ Look  heah,”  he  said  proudly,  “ dat  shot  done  hit 
me  on  he  haid  an’  broke  in  two.  Dere’s  de  shot  and 
dere’s  de  place  it  hit  me.  You  can  see  foh  you’se’f.” 

It  was  Boggs’s  greatest  joy  now  to  call  this  lad  and 
to  have  him  repeat  the  story,  which  the  young  hero 
did  with  delight,  several  times  a day. 

It  was  the  8th  of  May  when  we  arrived  off  Fortress 
Monroe,  just  in  time,  as  it  happened,  to  witness  another 
naval  battle,  though  of  a feeble  sort,  compared  with 
what  we  had  seen.  Yorktown  had  been  occupied  by 
McClellan  a few  days  before,  and  with  Fortress 
Monroe  already  ours,  conditions  were  ripe  for  the  fall 
of  Norfolk.  President  Lincoln  and  Secretary  Stanton 
had  come  down  from  Washington  to  witness  the  spec- 
tacle. Commodore  Goldsborough’s  fleet — wherein  was 
the  Monitor,  which  had  already  demonstrated  her  su- 
periority over  the  Merrimac,  and  a number  of  other 
fine  vessels,  including  several  improvised  rams — was 
expected  to  make  short  work  of  the  Confederate 
squadron. 

Learning  of  Mr.  Lincoln’s  presence,  we  sought  out 
the  tug  from  which  he  was  watching  the  proceedings, 


Bearing  the  News  Northward  213 

and  went  aboard.  The  fleet  was  then  in  full  play,  and 
we  stood  ready  with  the  Cayuga  to  enter  the  fight,  if 
invited.  But  President  Lincoln  was  more  eager  to  hear 
the  news  from  New  Orleans  than  that  we  should  add 
to  our  laurels.  He  made  us  tell  the  story  of  the  great 
fight  in  detail,  meantime  keeping  his  eye  on  the  move- 
ments of  the  fleet  under  Goldsborough,  which  though 
fighting  with  discretion  was  evidently  getting  the  best 
of  the  battle. 

All  at  once  I saw  a signal  made  from  the  Minnesota, 
the  flagship,  to  withdraw  from  action,  and  this  at  the 
very  moment  when  we  all  thought  that  our  rams 
should  have  improved  their  opportunity  and  destroyed 
the  Merrimac,  still  the  terror  of  the  fleet.  Naturally 
my  blood  began  to  boil,  and  I freely  expressed  my 
opinion  of  Goldsborough’s  fighting. 

“ How  can  you  tell  what  is  going  to  happen  ? ” 
asked  Mr.  Lincoln. 

“ Because,”  I said,  “ I am  a signal  officer,  and  can 
read  flags,”  and  taking  a signal  book  from  the  officer 
of  the  tug,  I showed  him  just  what  was  going  on,  and 
did  not  hesitate  to  add  that  if  Farragut  were  only  in 
Plampton  Roads  the  victory  would  be  ours  in  thirty 
minutes.  Bailey  and  Boggs  fully  agreed  with  me,  and 
Mr.  Lincoln  looked  puzzled  and  distressed.  It  was  evi- 
dent to  all  of  us  that  the  Confederates  were  on  the 
run,  and  that  the  Merrimac  even  then  was  limping 
away.  That  Goldsborough  did  not  press  his  advantage 
home  disgusted  those  of  us  who  had  so  recently  seen 
fighting  of  another  sort,  and  that  the  President  remon- 
strated with  him  that  night  is  shown  by  the  Commo- 
dore’s letter  of  explanation,  in  which  he  says : “ I 


2I4  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

supposed  I was  carrying  out  your  wishes  in  substance, 
if  not  to  the  letter.”  * 

Bailey  and  Boggs  as  well  as  myself  had  now  lost  in- 
terest in  the  operations  at  Norfolk,  and  we  were  all 
very  anxious  to  get  home,  Bailey  with  his  despatches 
and  I with  the  story  of  the  fight  below  New  Orleans, 
which  as  yet  had  not  reached  the  North  save  in  brief 
fragments,  chiefly  from  Southern  sources.  We  there- 
fore asked  Mr.  Lincoln  if  there  was  any  reason  why 
the  mail  boat,  held  by  orders  of  Secretary  Stanton, 
should  not  proceed  to  Baltimore. 

The  President  declared  that  so  far  as  he  knew  there 
was  no  reason  for  further  delay,  and  directed  me  to 
tell  Mr.  Stanton  that  he  desired  the  boat  should  pro- 
ceed with  the  important  despatches  carried  by  Captains 
Bailey  and  Boggs. 

* Many  comparisons  were  drawn  between  the  operations  of  the 
fleets  at  Norfolk  and  at  New  Orleans.  The  New  York  Times 
correspondent,  May  7th,  1862,  said : 

“ The  whole  army  and  navy  is  paralysed  by  the  Merrimac. 
Commodore  Goldsborough  of  this  station  will  not  stir  a vessel 
or  move  a gun  in  any  direction  so  long  as  the  Merrimac  threatens 
this  part  of  the  coast.  The  spectacle  presented  here  is  pitiable. 
We  have  here  the  Monitor , which  has  already  shown  herself  a 
match  for  the  Merrimac , the  Naugatuck  and  Galena , both  iron- 
clads, the  Vanderbilt , Arrago,  and  Illinois , all  prepared  for  the 
express  purpose  of  running  her  down,  besides  two  guns  mounted 
on  shore  throwing  balls  and  shells  weighing  over  four  hundred 
pounds,  and  both  commanding  at  point-blank  range  the  channel 
through  which  the  Merrimac  must  pass  to  enter  York  River, 
and  the  entire  armament  of  Fortress  Monroe;  and  yet,  with  all 
this  force,  the  naval  authorities  here  do  not  dare  look  the 
Merrimac  in  the  face,  but  act  as  if  the  end  of  the  world  had  come 
if  she  but  show  her  nose  off  Crainey  Island/’ 

Norfolk  surrendered  to  the  combined  land  forces  May  10th. 
Perhaps  Commodore  Goldsborough’s  policy  of  delay  was  inspired 
by  the  wish  to  avoid  possible  losses  of  men  and  vessels. 


Bearing  the  News  Northward  2t 5 

I went  up  into  the  Fort,  found  Mr.  Stanton  lying 
on  the  lounge,  saluted  him,  and  delivered  Mr.  Lin- 
coln’s message,  asking  if  the  mailboat  might  be  al- 
lowed to  proceed  to  Baltimore.  Mr.  Stanton  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow  and  regarded  me  sternly. 

“ No,  sir,”  he  said.  “ You  will  tell  Mr.  Lincoln  that 
the  mailboat  will  go  to  Baltimore  when  I say  she’ll  go.” 

I returned  to  the  tug  and  reported  Secretary  Stan- 
ton’s exact  words.  The  President  regarded  me  mildly, 
but  with  a curious  look  in  his  eye. 

“ Where  is  the  captain  of  the  boat  ? ” he  asked. 

“ There,”  I replied,  pointing  to  a man  on  the  dock. 

“ You  may  tell  him  to  come  here,”  said  Mr.  Lincoln, 
and  not  many  minutes  later  the  captain  of  the  mailboat 
stood  before  the  President,  who  was  likewise  Com- 
mander in  Chief  of  the  Army  and  Navy  of  the  United 
States. 

“ Are  you  ready  to  proceed  to  Baltimore  ? ” Mr. 
Lincoln  asked. 

The  captain  said  he  was,  that  his  mails  were  ready 
to  be  put  on  board. 

“ Very  well.  Get  your  passengers  together,  put 
your  mails  on  board  and  proceed  to  Baltimore  at  once. 
These  gentlemen  are  just  from  New  Orleans,  with 
official  reports  of  the  glorious  fight,  and  we  are  very 
anxious  to  get  them  to  Washington.” 

The  captain  at  once  obeyed,  got  his  mails  and  pas- 
sengers aboard,  cast  off  lines  and  we  were  away.  But 
as  we  rounded  the  face  of  the  Fortress  there  came  a 
puff  of  smoke  and  the  report  of  a blank  cartridge,  a 
signal  to  stop.  I was  in  the  pilot-house  with  the  cap- 
tain, and  when  the  gun  was  fired  he  said : 


216  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

“ Look  here,  that  means  we  must  turn  around  and 
go  back.” 

“ Captain,”  I said,  “ the  orders  from  the  President 
of  the  United  States,  who  is  also  the  Commander  in 
Chief  of  the  Army  and  Navy,  were  to  proceed  at  once 
to  Baltimore,  and  I’m  a witness  to  see  that  you  go.” 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  my  mouth  when — 
boom ! It  was  a shotted  gun  this  time,  the  ball  passing 
across  our  bows. 

Once  more  the  captain  hesitated.  This  was  getting 
serious. 

“ Captain,”  I said,  “ Farragut  obeyed  orders  and 
went  to  New  Orleans  in  the  face  of  hundreds  of  such 
guns  as  that.  Don’t  you  let  them  scare  you ! ” 

There  were  no  more  shots  fired.  We  proceeded  to 
Baltimore  without  further  trouble  and  I was  in  New 
York  next  day.  On  the  ioth  my  story  of  the  opera- 
tions below  New  Orleans  occupied  nearly  three  pages 
of  solid  matter  in  the  Herald,  and  was  the  only  ac- 
count written  by  a man  who  had  actually  passed  the 
forts.  On  May  24th  my  sketches  occupied  three  pages 
of  Harper’s  Weekly. 


XXXIV 

I Carry  News  of  the  Seven  Days’  Battle 

IT  may  have  been  due  to  the  excitement  and  stress 
of  those  days  below  New  Orleans — to  climatic 
conditions,  or  to  the  food  and  water — I can- 
not say,  but  from  whatever  cause,  I fell  ill  with  a 
gastric  fever  shortly  after  my  return  from  the  South, 
and  was  unable  to  resume  my  post  with  Flag  Officer 
Farragut,  much  as  I desired  to  do  so.  For  a time  I 
was  unfit  for  work  of  any  kind,  and  when  I recovered 
I confined  myself  to  office  duties,  with  an  occasional 
trip  to  Hampton  Roads,  or  to  some  other  point  near 
the  front  of  action. 

While  the  Seven  Days’  fight  was  in  progress — June 
25th  to  July  1st,  1862 — I was  at  Fortress  Monroe,  in 
charge  of  a sort  of  bureau  for  our  correspondents  in 
the  field,  looking  after  their  supplies,  receiving  their 
despatches,  forwarding  as  best  I could  the  story  of  the 
battle,  for  which  all  the  country  was  so  eagerly  wait- 
ing. But  when  the  last  day’s  struggle  ended  at  Mal- 
vern Hill,  and  the  tale  of  death  and  bloodshed  was 
complete,  the  War  Department  forbade  us  free  use  of 
the  wires;  so,  with  a number  of  correspondents  for 
other  Northern  journals,  I determined  to  come  to  New 
York  at  once,  bringing  the  copy  in  person.  We  em- 
barked on  the  Baltimore  mailboat,  which  had  a large 

217 


218  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

number  of  Confederate  prisoners  on  the  way  to  Fort 
McHenry. 

There  was  not  much  sleep  on  the  boat  that  night, 
and  when  we  arrived  at  Baltimore  all  made  a rush  for 
the  New  York  train.  There  was  only  one  in  those  days 
and  we  all  made  it,  but  it  was  a discouragingly  slow 
affair,  for  the  road  was  crowded  with  troops  going  to 
the  front  and  there  were  many  delays.  At  last  about 
dusk,  when  we  were  still  several  miles  out  of  Philadel- 
phia, a blinding  rainstorm  set  in  and  slowed  us  down 
still  more.  Then,  as  a final  disaster,  we  collided  with 
a cow,  which  derailed  the  engine  in  a lonely  place  and 
upset  things  generally. 

Some  of  the  correspondents  now  held  a council  of 
war  and  decided  that  it  was  no  use  to  make  any  fur- 
ther effort  to  get  through  that  night,  and  that  it  was 
advisable  to  get  a much  needed  rest.  I did  not  join 
this  council,  but  quietly  taking  my  gripsack  contain- 
ing the  despatches,  I set  off  in  the  direction  of  a light 
I had  seen  shining  brightly  in  a window  about  half  a 
mile  away. 

Reaching  the  house  I knocked,  and  was  presently 
relating  to  the  family  my  story  of  our  railway  acci- 
dent, adding  that  there  were  very  urgent  reasons  why 
I should  reach  New  York  without  further  delay.  I 
of  course  made  no  mention  of  the  fact  that  I was  a 
correspondent,  or  that  there  were  others  in  a similar 
plight. 

A beat  was  a beat  in  those  days  and  their  oppor- 
tunities had  been  the  same  as  mine.  I did  put  in 
something  about  a deathbed  and  a mother  anxiously 
waiting,  all  of  which  was  true,  many  times  over,  for 


The  Seven  Days’  Battle  219 

my  despatches  carried  the  tale  of  many  thousand 
deathbeds,  while  anxious  mothers  in  every  corner  of 
the  land  were  waiting  for  the  latest  word  and  for  the 
long,  long  list  of  names.  Even  if  the  thought  of  an- 
other great  news  victory  was  uppermost  in  my  mind,  I 
think  my  argument  was  justified.  I ended  by  offering 
the  man  of  the  house  five  dollars  to  hitch  up  and  drive 
me  to  West  Philadelphia. 

But  it  was  a bad  night — terrible,  in  fact — and  the 
man  of  the  house  did  not  want  to  go.  The  wife  pleaded 
with  him  in  behalf  of  the  anxious  mother,  and  I added 
another  five  dollars  to  the  temptation.  A few  minutes 
later  we  were  beating  our  way  through  the  tempest  be- 
hind a fairly  swift  team.  It  was  a wild,  wet  experi- 
ence, but  we  were  at  last  in  West  Philadelphia,  where 
I hurried  to  railroad  headquarters.  I found  that  no 
train  was  to  be  had  that  night,  but  that  I could  pro- 
cure a special  engine  for  a hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
I knew  that  Mr.  Hudson  would  at  this  hour  be  at  his 
desk  in  the  Herald  office,  and  I soon  made  it  known 
to  him  by  wire  that  I had  all  the  other  correspond- 
ents corralled  in  a wreck,  and  that  if  he  thought 
it  worth  while  I would  charter  the  engine  and 
come  on. 

Frederick  Hudson  never  hesitated  in  a matter  like 
that.  Word  came  back  to  close  the  bargain,  and  within 
half  an  hour  after  I had  reached  Philadelphia  I was 
on  the  way  to  New  York,  this  time  going  at  head- 
long speed  through  the  night  and  rain.  I remember 
that  night  as  a weird  race  with  time.  Lights  and  sta- 
tions flashed  by.  Here  and  there  we  had  to  pause 
briefly  for  trains  to  pass,  chafing  impatiently  as  we 


220  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

waited,  though  for  the  most  part  they  gave  us  an  open 
track. 

At  Jersey  City  were  two  carriages  from  the  Herald, 
four  men  in  one  and  three  in  the  other.  I handed  out 
my  great  bundle  of  copy,  and  it  was  cut  into  “ takes  ” 
on  the  way  across  the  ferry,  and  presently  we  were 
going  at  a gallop  up  Cortland  Street  to  the  corner  of 
Fulton  and  Nassau,  where  the  Herald  building  then 
stood. 

It  was  near  midnight  when  we  reached  the  office. 
A gang  of  extra  compositors  had  the  matter  in- 
stantly in  hand,  everything  made  way  for  the  big 
story,  and  the  most  of  it  was  on  the  street  by  daylight 
in  the  hands  of  eager  thousands.  But  to  the  marooned 
correspondents,  it  must  have  made  rather  a discom- 
fiting story  when  they  met  it  in  the  Herald  on  their 
arrival  in  Philadelphia  that  morning.  Well,  those 
were  the  days  of  great  opportunities  and  many  beats. 
The  vast  network  of  wires  and  the  perfected  system  of 
the  Associated  Press  have  made  great  individual  news 
achievements,  to-day,  few  and  far  between. 

As  a sequel,  or  rather  a pendant  to  this  episode,  I 
may  recall  an  incident  with  a certain  gruesome 
humour  in  it,  which  occurred  upon  my  return  to  For- 
tress Monroe,  a few  days  later.  I had  with  me  many 
copies  of  the  Herald  with  the  lists  of  killed  and 
wounded — fairly  correct,  considering  the  manner  of 
compilation — and  in  the  hospitals,  where  the  thou- 
sands of  wounded  lay,  the  papers  were  seized  with 
pathetic  eagerness,  every  man  anxious  to  see  that  his 
name  was  there.  On  one  cot  that  I passed  lay  a man 
terribly  wounded,  his  face  already  whitening  with  ap- 


221 


The  Seven  Days’  Battle 

proaching  death.  He  told  me  his  name,  and  I found 
it  for  him  in  the  long  list.  He  wanted  to  see  it,  and  I 
pointed  it  out  and  held  the  paper  in  range  of  his  eyes. 
He  regarded  it  steadily  for  an  instant,  and  then  a tragic 
look  which  I shall  never  forget  came  into  his  face  as 
he  gasped  out, 

“ My  God — after  fighting — and  dying — for  your 
country — then  to  have  your  name — spelled  wrong ! ” 


XXXV 

I Join  a Unique  Naval  Expedition 

THE  victory  of  the  little  Monitor  over  the 
Merrimac — March  9th,  1862 — had  marked 
the  beginning  of  an  epoch  in  the  construc- 
tion of  naval  fighting  machines.  Our  beautiful  old 
wooden  vessels — the  splendid  frigates,  the  handsome 
sloops  of  war  and  the  swift,  effective  gunboats — began 
to  be  regarded  with  compassion  and  distrust,  while 
the  revolving  turret  of  Theodore  R.  Timby,  as  com- 
bined by  John  Ericsson  with  a low-lying,  ironclad  hull 
— the  “ cheesebox  on  a raft  ” — became  all  at  once  the 
centre  of  naval  attention  throughout  the  civilised 
world. 

That  the  “ monitor  ” type  of  craft,  as  against  other 
vessels,  whether  of  wood  or  iron,  was  a potential 
agent  of  destruction,  was  certain.  Whether  such  a ves- 
sel would  stand  the  plunging  fire  of  a land  battery  with 
heavy  guns — whether  her  crew  could  endure  the  shock 
and  strain  of  such  a pounding,  even  supposing  that 
the  vessel  could  survive,  these  were  questions  much 
discussed  and  to  be  settled  only  by  actual  experiment. 
The  test  came,  when  in  January,  1863,  the  monitor 
Montauk  was  sent  against  Fort  McAllister,  Georgia, 
in  which  historic  demonstration  it  became  my  fortune 
to  take  an  active  part — to  convey,  as  it  were,  the  ver- 
dict which  spelled  the  final  doom  of  our  beloved 


222 


Join  a Naval  Expedition  223 

“ wooden  walls  ” and  destroyed  forever  the  romance 
of  naval  warfare. 

After  the  test  at  Hampton  Roads  a number  of  the 
Ericsson  vessels  had  been  rapidly  completed,  and  I 
had  made  one  trial  trip  on  the  Passaic,  which  had 
resulted  in  a rather  unsatisfactory  test  of  her  guns. 
I knew  Ericsson  well,  intimately,  in  fact,  and  in  the 
double  capacity  of  seaman  and  reporter  had  frequently 
discussed  his  plans  with  him,  offering  here  and  there 
a suggestion,  which  was  occasionally  adopted.  Still, 
I must  confess  I was  far  from  enthusiastic  concerning 
the  new  idea,  and  my  brief  experience  in  the  Passaic 
did  not  cause  me  to  fill  with  joy  at  the  thought  of 
being  canned  up  in  a box  like  that,  during  heavy 
action. 

I may  add  that  my  sentiments  were  shared  by  naval 
officers  and  men  generally.  The  Monitor  herself  had 
not  found  it  easy  to  get  a crew,  while  of  the  available 
officers  only  stout-hearted  John  L.  Worden  had  been 
willing  to  take  command.  His  prompt  victory  over  the 
Merrimac  had  made  him  the  hero  of  the  hour,  though 
the  fact  that  his  head,  or  more  particularly  his  eyes, 
had  been  injured  by  concussion  was  discouraging 
to  volunteers  for  such  service,  and  when  the  Montauk 
was  ready  for  sea  it  was  once  more  Lieutenant-Com- 
mander Worden  who,  ddspite  his  infirmities  result- 
ing from  the  former  experience,  nobly  accepted  the 
command. 

The  Montauk  was  put  into  commission  at  the  Brook- 
lyn Navy  Yard  in  December,  1862,  and,  whatever  may 
have  been  my  misgivings,  I lost  no  time  in  applying 
to  Commander  Worden  for  the  position  of  clerk  and 


224  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

signal  officer,  and  was  duly  appointed  to  fill  the  place. 
The  little  fighter  left  New  York  the  day  before  Christ- 
mas, under  convoy,  touching  at  Hampton  Roads,  ar- 
riving at  Port  Royal,  where  Rear  Admiral  Dupont 
made  his  headquarters,  coming  to  anchor,  January 
19th,  off  Hilton  Head,  the  scene  of  that  rare  naval 
spectacle  of  more  than  a year  before.  I did  not  make 
the  trip  South  in  the  Montauk,  for  the  reason  that  a 
Russian  admiral  had  obtained  permission  to  make  the 
passage  and  there  was  no  other  spare  berth  in  the  ves- 
sel. I came  down  by  the  naval  transport  Circassian, 
arriving  a day  later,  and  January  20th,  1863,  precisely 
a year  from  the  day  of  my  first  meeting  with  Farra- 
gut,  I reported  to  Rear  Admiral  Dupont,  and  received 
from  him  special  instructions  concerning  my  duties 
on  the  Montauk.  When  I was  leaving  he  said, 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  you  are  aware  that  Commander  Wor- 
den’s eyesight  is  defective  owing  to  injuries  received 
on  board  the  Monitor.  I shall  expect  you  to  be  his 
eyes,  and  as  his  clerk  to  aid  him  in  every  possible  way. 
The  Montauk  will  be  tested  under  heavy  fire  from 
earthworks,  and  we  desire  full  information  as  to  re- 
sults, for  it  is  our  purpose  to  use  this  type  of  vessel  in 
reducing  the  defences  of  Charleston.  Keep  your  eyes 
open  and  note  all  events,  and  the  details  of  the  working 
of  ship  and  guns.” 

I promised  that  I would  faithfully  set  down  every 
item  that  came  under  my  personal  observation.  Then, 
the  Russian  admiral  having  vacated  my  premises,  I 
reported  to  Commander  Worden,  aboard  the  Montauk. 

The  destination  of  the  expedition  headed  by  the 
Montauk  was  the  Ogeechee  River,  one  of  the  several 


Join  a Naval  Expedition  225 

inlets  just  below  Savannah,  and  our  object  was  two- 
fold. As  already  shown,  we  were  to  test  the  new  type 
of  vessel  under  the  fire  of  Fort  McAllister,  a heavy 
land  battery  located  several  miles  up  the  Ogeechee ; but 
the  chief  purpose  of  our  venture  was  to  destroy  or  cap- 
ture the  steamer  Nashville,  which,  since  that  day  off 
Charleston  Bar  when  from  the  Harriet  Lane  we  had 
sent  across  her  bows  the  first  shot  of  the  war  from 
the  Union  side,  had  become  a Confederate  blockade 
runner  and  commerce  destroyer — in  fact,  a privateer. 
On  November  19th  she  had  captured  and  burned  the 
ship  Harvey  Birch,  and  in  February  had  burned  the 
schooner  Robert  Gilhllan.  Later,  she  had  wormed  her 
way  through  the  blockade  into  the  Ogeechee,  and  now 
lay  under  the  protection  of  the  powerful  guns  of  Fort 
McAllister,  loaded  with  cotton  and  stores,  waiting  for 
a dark  night,  or  a dense  fog,  to  slip  by  the  blockaders, 
and  put  to  sea.  Our  wooden  vessels  could  not  hope  to 
stand  the  fire  of  Fort  McAllister  nor  expect  to  pass 
the  network  of  piles,  mines,  and  torpedoes  which  made 
a deadly  barrier  just  below  the  works.  It  would  have 
been  wildly  reckless,  even  had  there  been  a possibility 
of  success,  to  attempt,  as  at  New  Orleans,  a passage 
of  the  fort,  for  the  reason  that  only  the  Nashville  lay 
beyond — game  most  important,  but  worth  no  such 
risk,  and  of  no  value  to  the  enemy  so  long  as  she  re- 
mained hemmed  in.  The  Montauk,  with  her  great 
eleven  and  fifteen-inch  guns,  was  expected  to  silence 
the  earthworks,  to  destroy  the  obstructions,  and  to 
capture  or  sink  the  pirate.  We  shall  see  how  far  these 
hopes  were  realised. 


XXXVI 

The  First  Encounter  of  Monitor  and  Fort 

IT  was  Saturday,  January  24th,  1863,  when  we 
finally  entered  the  mouth  of  the  Ogeechee  and 
came  to  anchor  off  Raccoon  Island.  During  the 
voyage  down  I had  made  a careful  inspection  of  the 
workings  of  the  vessel,  her  guns  and  interior  arrange- 
ments, and  while  my  confidence  in  her  fighting  quali- 
ties, and  in  her  ability  to  stand  punishment  momentarily 
increased,  I was  not  favourably  impressed  with  her 
provisions  for  the  comfort  of  officers  and  crew.  We 
were  all  so  very  close  together  and  so  near  to  various 
forms  of  death.  Below  the  surface  of  the  water,  shut 
up  in  a metal  box,  with  every  sort  of  explosive  packed 
about  us,  with  no  air  except  what  came  down  through 
the  turret — little  enough  even  when  distributed  by 
steam  fans — with  no  handy  way  to  get  out  if  some- 
thing should  suddenly  go  off,  or  a valve  should  let  in 
the  ocean,  or  the  steam  fans  should  fail  to  work,  cer- 
tainly this  was  unlike  any  navigation  or  warfare  I 
had  known. 

Our  executive  officer,  Cushman,  was  a mathemati- 
cian. In  fact,  I have  never  seen  such  a fiend  for  figures. 
He  must  have  carried  off  all  the  prizes  at  Annapolis, 
and  he  now  carefully  worked  out  for  our  edification 
the  exact  lung  capacity  of  every  man  below  decks,  and 
to  the  fraction  of  a minute  just  how  long  each  of  us 
226 


Encounter  of  Monitor  and  Fort  22 7 

would  last  if  the  supply  of  oxygen  suddenly  ceased. 
He  further  demonstrated  with  startling  accuracy  pre- 
cisely how  many  seconds  it  would  take  the  vessel  to 
fill  with  water  coming  through  a hole  of  a given  size, 
and  at  a given  pressure,  according  to  the  depth  below 
the  water  line.  Furthermore,  he  showed  how  this  hole 
could  be  made,  calculating  with  deadly  skill  the  foot- 
pound energy  of  shot  of  every  known  diameter,  with 
the  precise  indentation  or  perforation  of  an  iron  plate 
of  any  given  angle  or  tensile  strength.  Cushman’s  fig- 
ures were  satisfactory,  but  not  comforting.  They  fasci- 
nated for  a while,  but  eventually  they  lost  him  friends. 
We  fell  away  from  him  when  he  produced  his  pencil 
and  paper.  Some  of  us  took  refuge  in  the  turret  or  in 
the  little  pilot-house  which  surmounted  it.  Others 
risked  their  lives  by  going  on  deck.  Anything  was 
better  than  those  figures. 

On  the  day  after  our  arrival  we  took  a position 
higher  up  the  river,  off  Marsh  Island,  just  out  of 
range  of  the  enemy’s  guns.  Our  fleet  now  consisted 
of  four  vessels  besides  the  Montauk.  We  had  with  us 
two  old  friends  from  the  Mississippi,  the  gunboat 
Wissahickon  and  the  mortar  schooner  C.  P.  Williams; 
also  the  gunboat  Dawn,  commanded  by  “ Johnnie  ” 
Barnes,  a fine  officer  and  a loyal  friend,  and  the  Seneca , 
drawn  from  the  squadron  at  Port  Royal,  All  were 
stripped  for  action,  and  the  Montauk’ s decks,  except 
for  the  turret  with  the  little  pilot-house  atop,  and  the 
smokestack,  were  entirely  clear.  On  the  night  of  the 
25th  Commander  Davis  of  the  Wissahickon  went 
quietly  up  into  the  enemy’s  lines,  shifted  a number  of 
range  marks  and  destroyed  a lookout  pole.  On  the 


228  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

26th  the  Daffodil , the  despatch  boat  from  Port  Royal, 
joined  our  fleet. 

We  had  by  this  time  looked  over  the  field  pretty 
carefully  and  knew  about  what  work  lay  ahead.  Fort 
McAllister,  named  for  the  commander,  a wealthy 
planter  who  lived  close  by,  was  a huge  earthwork  on 
a sharp  bend  of  the  river,  and  a little  way  beyond — 
loaded  and  ready  to  put  to  sea — the  Nashville  lay.  Just 
below  the  fort,  stretching  across  the  river,  with  some- 
where an  egress  for  the  Nashville,  were  the  obstruc- 
tions. The  Montauk  was  to  go  up  ahead  and  silence 
the  fort.  Then  the  gunboats  would  come  up  and  we 
would  proceed  to  clear  the  obstructions.  Passing 
above,  the  capture  of  the  Nashville — a rich  prize, 
loaded  as  she  was  with  cotton — would  be  easy.  The 
plan  was  very  simple,  you  see,  with  but  one  defect. 
We  failed  to  estimate  the  power  and  durability  of  that 
fort. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  26th  the  commanders  of 
the  gunboats  came  aboard  the  Montauk  for  a final 
council  of  war,  and  at  five  o’clock  on  the  morning  of 
the  27th  we  prepared  to  engage  the  enemy. 

It  was  a dull  morning  and  too  early  for  anybody 
to  feel  hungry.  Besides,  most  of  the  Montauk’s  crew 
had  never  been  under  fire — while  no  man  living  had 
ever  taken  the  fire  of  a shore  battery  in  a craft  of  that 
kind,  and  the  new  experience  just  ahead  was  not  cal- 
culated to  improve  a man’s  appetite.  Yet  as  a whole, 
we  had  faith  in  our  craft  and  we  knew  that  the  eyes 
of  the  world  were  upon  us.  I think  Worden  had  no 
doubt  of  the  result,  and  the  crew  generally  were  cheer- 
ful and  eager  to  get  at  the  fighting.  We  might  have 


Encounter  of  Monitor  and  Fort  229 

been  a trifle  less  confident  had  we  known  the  strength 
and  skill  of  our  enemy. 

We  started  up  the  river  at  five  minutes  of  seven, 
and  by  seven  were  going  fast,  the  Seneca,  Dawn,  Wis- 
sahickon,  and  C.  P.  Williams  following  about  a mile 
and  a half  astern.  It  was  ebb  tide  and  we  steamed  up 
grandly.  All  at  once  we  passed  a clump  of  trees,  and 
the  fort  was  in  plain  view.  With  Commander  Wor- 
den in  the  pilot-house,  was  Pilot  Murphy,  a quarter- 
master to  steer,  and  myself — close  quarters  for  four 
men.  Perhaps  I ought  to  say  that  the  pilot-house  of  a 
monitor  was  the  embryo  conning  tower  of  to-day.  It 
was  solidly  constructed  of  six  plates  of  one-inch  lami- 
nated iron  and  had  slits  for  observation.  Worden  and 
I each  had  one  of  these  peep  holes.  It  was  my  duty 
not  only  to  record  the  battle,  but  to  give  him  ranges, 
and  information  which,  owing  to  his  defective  vision, 
he  could  not  compass  with  certainty.  In  fact,  as  Rear 
Admiral  Dupont  had  said,  I was  to  become  “ his  eyes.” 

No  sign  of  life  appeared  in  the  fort  as  we  approached 
— not  even  a flag.  A small  tug  lay  a little  way  above 
the  obstructions,  a thread  of  smoke  coming  from  her 
stack,  showing  that  she  was  ready  to  move.  Evidently 
she  had  the  torpedo  wires  and  was  waiting  to  fire  them 
if  we  got  in  position.  We  steamed  slower  now — still 
not  a soul  to  be  seen  on  the  works,  which  we  began  to 
think  might  be  deserted. 

At  7.30  we  were  within  fifteen  hundred  yards  of  the 
fort,  and  let  go  anchor.  Five  minutes  later,  at  the 
word  of  command,  the  turret  beneath  us  began  slowly 
to  revolve.  A few  moments  and  the  big  eleven-inch 
gun  was  at  range,  elevated  for  fifteen  hundred  yards. 


23°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

“ Stop!  ” and  the  turret  came  to  a standstill.  “ Fire!  ” 
and  for  an  instant  one’s  heart  stood  still,  waiting. 
Then  the  floor  of  the  pilot-house  lifted  and  heaved  and 
shook  with  the  mighty  roar  of  the  gun  a few  inches 
beneath,  and  a moment  later  a great  shell  exploded 
just  short  of  the  enemy’s  works. 

I had  never  before  stood  on  top  of,  or  rather  over, 
an  eleven-inch  gun  when  it  was  being  fired,  and  the  sen- 
sation was  novel,  to  say  the  least.  Then  suddenly  the 
fifteen-inch  monster,  which  the  boys  had  named 
“ Heenan  ” (the  other  was  called  “Sayres”),  went 
off,  and  the  explosion  of  the  world  could  hardly  have 
been  more  startling.  We  knew  now  what  to  expect, 
and  after  that  raised  on  our  tiptoes  at  the  word  “ Fire.” 

But  just  here  we  discovered  that  the  fortress  was 
not  abandoned.  At  7.40  precisely  there  came  a flash 
from  up  there  and  a well-aimed  ten-inch  shot  struck 
us  on  the  gunwale,  raising  a ruffled  edge  on  one  of  the 
plates,  but  doing  no  damage.  The  hit  made  a great 
noise  below,  but  its  slight  effect  established  confidence 
among  the  crew. 

We  now  loaded  and  fired  as  fast  as  possible,  but  did 
not  at  once  get  the  ranges,  owing  to  the  new  sort  of 
gun  practice.  The  wooden  vessels,  meantime,  from 
some  distance  in  the  rear  were  piling  in  shell  on  the 
fort  in  excellent  style,  and  the  battle  was  on  in  ear- 
nest. It  was  to  us,  almost  entirely,  that  the  fort  de- 
voted its  attention.  Above  and  about  us  shells  exploded, 
rattling  against  our  armour,  making  an  infernal 
racket,  but  doing  little  or  no  harm.  The  smoke  got 
very  thick  about  the  pilot-house,  blowing  in  at  the  peep 
holes,  and  annoying  Worden  so  that  presently  he  went 


Encounter  of  Monitor  and  Fort  231 

below  to  inspect  the  working  of  the  turret  and  to  note 
the  effect  of  the  heavy  guns  upon  the  vessel,  leaving 
me  to  communicate  the  ranges  and  length  of  time 
fuses  to  Mr.  Cushman  in  the  turret  below.  Once  as  I 
was  about  to  call  to  him  through  the  grating,  a heavy 
shot  from  the  fort  struck  the  turret  a terrible  blow, 
making  such  a noise  as  I think  none  of  us  had  ever 
heard  before  in  our  lives. 

“ Hey,  Cushman,”  I called,  “ can  you  calculate  the 
foot-pound  energy  of  that  shot?  ” 

He  did  not  reply  to  the  question,  but  the  boys  be- 
low told  me  afterward  that  when  he  recovered  his 
equilibrium  he  instinctively  reached  for  his  pencil  and 
paper. 

We  now  realised  that  we  had  underestimated  our 
enemy.  Our  ammunition  was  running  low,  and  while 
we  had  pounded  the  works  severely  and  made  a good 
deal  of  sand  fly,  we  had  apparently  done  little  harm. 
Shot  and  shell  came  as  thickly  as  ever,  fired  with  un- 
erring accuracy.  For  once  my  rule  of  gunnery  on  land 
and  sea  was  being  proven  by  the  exception.  At  10.35 
we  swung  into  better  position,  but  it  was  no  use.  We 
could  accomplish  little  without  more  ammunition,  and 
at  noon,  when  our  last  shells  were  nearly  gone,  we 
weighed  anchor  and  dropped  down  the  stream,  fol- 
lowed by  farewell  volleys,  among  which  a thirty-two 
pounder  hit  the  turret  fairly.  An  hour  later  we  were  at 
our  anchorage,  counting  our  scars.  We  had  fifteen 
hits,  altogether.  The  gunboats  were  untouched. 

On  the  whole,  everybody  was  very  happy.  We  had 
accomplished  little  in  the  way  of  damage  to  the  en- 
emy, but  we  had  enjoyed  a forenoon  of  fine  target 


232  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

practice,  and,  more  than  all,  we  had  demonstrated  the 
fact  that  the  Ericsson  monitor  would  stand  the  heavy 
fire  of  land  batteries.  We  had  perfect  faith  now  in  our 
iron  vessel.  She  worked  like  a charm,  and  she  had 
come  through  a fearful  pounding,  all  the  better  for  it, 
we  said,  for  now  her  plates  were  more  securely  ham- 
mered on.  In  fact  we  were  in  high  spirits,  cracking 
jokes  and  laughing  at  the  curious  spectacle  we  made 
with  our  powder-blackened  faces,  and  were  so  rejoiced 
to  be  once  more  in  the  fresh  air  that  I think  we  hardly 
realised  how  fully  we  had  revolutionised  the  navies  of 
the  world. 


XXXVII 

Another  Trial  at  Fort  McAllister 


FIVE  days  elapsed  before  we  were  ready  for  a 
second  attack.  The  Daffodil  went  to  and  fro 
between  Marsh  Island  and  Port  Royal,  bring- 
ing down  ammunition  and  necessary  supplies.  From 
contrabands  we  heard  various  reports,  among  them  a 
rumour  that  the  Confederate  ironclad,  Fingal,  was 
expected  to  take  part  in  the  next  engagement.  We 
gave  little  attention  to  such  intelligence,  and  spent 
most  of  our  time  filling  the  great  shells  for  “ Heenan  ” 
and  “ Sayers,”  those  of  “ Heenan  ” weighing  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  pounds  each — the  solid  shot 
thirty-five  pounds  more. 

Our  friends,  the  enemy,  were  likewise  busy.  The 
little  tug  was  going  about  all  day  putting  down  tor- 
pedoes, helping  with  repairs  and  assisting  the  Nash- 
ville, which  had  come  back  down  the  Seven  Mile 
Reach  and  lay  once  more  just  above  the  fort.  We 
could  see  her  from  the  mastheads  of  the  gunboats, 
and  knew  that  she  was  still  piling  on  cotton,  hoping 
that  by  some  trickery,  or  assistance,  she  would  be  able 
to  get  by  us  in  the  dark.  It  was  her  greediness  for 
cotton  that  proved  her  downfall,  as  we  shall  see. 

On  the  29th  a little  bird  lingered  about  our  decks 
all  day,  very  tame  and  friendly,  and  the  sailors  thought 
it  a good  omen.  In  the  evening  we  heard  a heavy  gun 

233 


234  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

go  off  from  the  works,  and  concluded  that  the  enemy 
had  mounted  and  was  trying  a new  gun.  Later  we  dis- 
covered a bright  light  near  where  we  had  anchored. 
Evidently  we  were  to  have  a proper  reception  this 
time. 

On  the  next  day  the  Confederates  burned  off  the 
rice  and  brush  fields  back  of  the  fort,  doubtless  expect- 
ing a land  attack  in  that  quarter.  On  the  31st  the 
Daffodil  came  down  with  a final  load  of  ammunition 
and  two  army  officers,  who  were  anxious  to  see  the 
fight.  We  were  ready  now  for  the  second  attack,  our 
plans  being  this  time  to  go  much  nearer  to  the  works, 
and  by  rapid,  well-directed  fire  to  silence  and  destroy 
the  battery. 

It  was  5.30  when  all  hands  were  called  on  the  morn- 
ing of  Sunday,  February  1st,  1863,  and  again  there 
was  a light  breakfast  in  prospect  of,  and  preparation 
for,  the  fight.  There  was  a real  Sunday  quiet  on  the 
river  and  the  land  about,  and  then  the  old  feeling  of 
going  into  action,  as  usual,  made  us  a trifle  solemn. 

It  was  not  that  there  was  any  distrust  of  our  vessel 
this  time,  though  to  be  sure  we  were  to  stand  a test 
at  much  shorter  range,  but  there  is  always  something 
peculiar  in  the  sensation  a man  has  going  into  battle 
aboard  ship.  He  has  usually  known  of  the  impending 
engagement  for  hours,  even  days,  ahead.  The  situa- 
tion has  been  discussed  from  every  conceivable  point 
of  view.  Every  possibility,  even  that  of  defeat,  has 
been  considered,  and,  if  possible,  certain  letters  have 
been  written  home.  Then  at  last  it  is  the  mo- 
ment of  starting.  A sharp  order  is  given,  and 
the  anchor  chains  click  in  the  windlass.  The  crew  bus- 


Trial  at  Fort  McAllister  235 

ties — a rapid  walking  goes  on  about  the  decks.  A bell 
in  the  engine  room  jingles,  the  vessel  moves.  There 
begins  a rushing  sound  of  water  along  her  sides.  All 
these  are  accustomed  sounds  and  movements,  but  there 
is  always  a different  note  and  a special  significance  in 
them  when  the  ship  is  going  into  battle.  Even  the 
lamps  below  burn  with  a peculiar  glare.  A glass  of 
water  has  a different  taste.  One  finds  that  he  is  ner- 
vously impatient.  Why  doesn’t  the  first  gun  go  off  and 
begin  it  all?  Then,  suddenly  the  enemy  opens — a shot 
strikes  the  vessel,  or  tears  through  the  rigging.  Why 
don’t  we  fire  ? Why  in  hell  don’t  we  fire  ? Click ! goes 
a gunlock — Snap!  goes  a primer,  and  there  is  a tre- 
mendous report  which  shakes  the  vessel  and  wakes  it 
to  new  and  sudden  life.  There  is  no  more  hesitation, 
no  more  nervousness,  no  more  cold  sweat.  One  sud- 
denly becomes  a fierce,  eager  creature  with  the  energy 
of  a demon.  The  engagement  has  begun. 

Our  battle  of  February  1st  was  a repetition  of  our 
former  action,  much  intensified.  We  went  up  within 
six  hundred  yards  of  the  works  this  time,  where  we 
could  look  directly  into  the  muzzles  of  the  guns.  The 
gunboats  lay  considerably  lower  down.  At  7.45  we 
opened  with  our  fifteen-inch  gun,  and  then  for  four 
hours  there  was  such  a cannonade  between  fort  and 
fleet  as  the  world  had  never  seen.  Their  markmanship 
was  something  superb  and  we  were  hit  continually  in 
every  quarter.  Shells  hit  the  turret  and  pilot-house, 
bursting  into  showers  of  fragments.  Then  presently 
the  smoke  became  so  dense  that  neither  side  could 
see,  and  both  slackened  fire  until  the  air  cleared.  Im- 
mediately afterward,  the  fort  opened  with  greater 


A Sailor  of  Fortune 

accuracy  than  ever,  and  we  were  literally  peppered 
with  shot  and  shell.  So  deafening  was  the  noise  of 
their  heavy  projectiles  at  that  short,  deadly  range  that 
I have  not  recovered  my  full  hearing  to  this  day. 

At  8.30  I was  down  on  one  knee  making  a note, 
when  a tremendous  blow  on  the  pilot-house  loosened 
some  of  the  plate  bolts,  one  of  which  struck  me  on  the 
shoulder,  while  another  displaced  my  kneecap  (the 
same  one  I had  unshipped  in  the  Gautemala  several 
years  before)  and  broke  two  of  my  ribs. 

I was  half  stunned  and  my  leg  was  well-nigh  useless, 
but  it  was  not  until  we  had  ceased  firing  that  I made 
my  way  below  decks  for  surgical  examination.  The 
enemy,  however,  was  not  through  with  me.  I was 
standing  in  the  wardroom,  by  the  surgeon’s  command, 
with  my  head  just  below  the  deck,  when  a shell  struck 
fair  and  square  exactly  above  me,  and  over  I went. 
They  thought  I was  done  for  then,  but  in  a few  min- 
utes I regained  consciousness,  was  patched  up,  and 
went  on  with  my  notes. 

I found  the  noise  even  louder  down  there.  Shells 
striking  the  pilot-house  had  sounded  like  the  cracking 
of  gigantic  nuts.  Here,  when  a shell  struck  it  was 
more  like  the  cracking  of  one’s  skull.  Besides,  I sup- 
pose I wasn’t  feeling  quite  well,  which  made  a dif- 
ference.* 

But  our  boys  didn’t  seem  to  mind  anything.  Black 

* Frederic  Hudson,  in  his  “History  of  Journalism  in  the 
United  States,”  page  716,  speaking  of  the  arduous  work  of 
Herald  correspondents  in  the  field  and  afloat,  says:  “Osbon, 
of  the  same  paper,  the  only  correspondent  on  the  ironclads  in 
action,  calmly  watched  the  effect  of  each  impact,  and  . . . 

as  signal  officer,  in  the  rigging  with  Farragut,  ran  the  gauntlet 


Trial  at  Fort  McAllister  23 7 

as  demons,  they  laughed  and  joked  and  rolled  in  the 
big  shells,  and  sent  them  with  a jeer  at  the  powerful 
earthworks  which  we  were  pounding  and  smashing, 
though  to  little  purpose  for,  with  the  exception  of  one 
gun  which  we  had  blown  into  the  air  and  one  man 
killed  by  a needless  and  derisive  exposure  of  himself 
on  the  parapet,  their  armament  and  force  would  seem 
to  have  suffered  not  at  all.  Once  more,  at  noon,  with 
our  ammunition  exhausted,  we  were  drifting  down  to 
our  old  anchorage,  where  everybody  came  aboard  to 
see  how  we  had  stood  the  fight.  We  were  as  good  as 
new,  despite  the  fact  that  we  had  received  forty-eight 
shots  this  time — nineteen  on  the  turret  and  pilot-house, 
seven  in  the  smokestack,  which  looked  like  a pepper 
box,  while  two  of  our  flagstaffs  had  been  shot  away. 
We  had  accomplished  nothing  at  all  so  far  as  the 
Nashville  was  concerned,  but  we  had  gained  a knowl- 
edge of  our  invulnerability  which  we  accounted  as 
worth  millions. 

at  New  Orleans.  ...  If  the  Press  had  ribbons  and  orders 
to  confer  for  gallant  conduct  on  the  field  of  battle,  these  corre- 
spondents would  have  their  breasts  covered  with  brilliants  on 
state  occasions;  but  their  decorations  shine  in  the  columns  of 
the  papers,  where  they  are  imperishable/’ — A.  B.  P. 


XXXVIII 

We  Get  the  Nashville  at  Last 

WE  now  became  simply  a blockading  fleet, 
and  for  four  weeks  lay  off  Marsh  Island, 
waiting  for  something  to  turn  up.  We  had 
about  given  up  the  idea  of  reducing  the  fort  without 
more  heavy  guns,  and  a relay  of  monitors  was  expected 
to  take  part  in  the  next  engagement.  Twice  during 
the  month  I went  up  to  Port  Royal  with  the  Daffodil, 
for  ammunition,  and  to  carry  despatches  to  Rear  Ad- 
miral Dupont,  who  was  deeply  interested  in  talking 
over  with  me  the  more  minute  incidents  of  the  two 
engagements.  Dupont,  however,  prohibited  my  for- 
warding any  portion  of  the  story  to  the  Herald  until 
the  operations  on  the  Ogeechee  should  be  at  an  end. 
He  explained  his  reasons  to  me,  which  were  chiefly 
that  any  preliminary  report  of  our  experimental  work 
might  be  of  benefit  to  the  enemy  as  well  as  ourselves, 
and  he  embodied  his  objections  in  an  official  letter  to 
Worden,  in  which  he  put  a taboo  on  reporters  gener- 
ally. This,  as  he  explained  to  me,  was  done  in  order 
that  he  might  show  a copy  of  the  letter  to  the  flock  of 
newspaper  men  who  were  constantly  besieging  him  for 
permission  to  accompany  the  various  expeditions.  I 
was  entirely  in  accord  with  the  admiral’s  views, 
and  agreed  to  send  nothing  to  the  paper  without  his 
approval. 

The  Nashville,  meantime,  had  kept  her  position, 
238 


We  Get  the  Nashville  2 39 

just  above  the  fort  and,  though  we  did  not  know  it, 
was  held  there  by  lower  tides  and  the  fact  that  she  was 
so  deeply  laden  that  it  made  it  difficult  for  her  to  cross 
the  bar  which  separated  her  from  the  “ Seven  Mile 
Reach.”  She  was  by  no  means  a welcome  guest  of  the 
fort.  Colonel  McAllister,  as  we  learned  later,  declared 
that  so  long  as  she  lay  there  those  “ damned  Yankees  ” 
were  likely  to  come  up  and  annoy  them,  and  it  was  by 
his  orders  that  the  vessel  at  length  essayed  to  get  back 
into  the  “ Reach  ” — an  attempt  which  became  her 
undoing. 

At  three  o’clock  on  the  afternoon  of  February  27th 
the  Wissahickon  signalled  “ Strange  sail  or  steamer 
up  the  river,”  and  immediately  afterward  we  saw  the 
dense  black  smoke  of  the  Nashville  behind  the  forest 
which  shut  off  Fort  McAllister  from  our  view.  The 
smoke  got  blacker,  and  we  saw  that  the  vessel  was 
moving  rapidly  toward  the  Reach.  Then  suddenly  she 
stopped,  dead  still.  We  speculated  as  to  the  cause, 
quickly  arriving  at  the  conclusion  that  she  was 
aground.  The  Seneca  was  immediately  sent  to  recon- 
noitre, and  brought  back  the  joyful  news  that  the 
Nashville  was,  in  truth,  hard  and  fast  on  the  bar,  and 
that  she  was  not  likely  to  get  off,  having  gone  on  at 
full  speed  and  at  the  top  of  the  tide. 

We  were  greatly  rejoiced.  It  was  too  late  to  do 
anything  that  evening,  but  we  felt  confident  that  our 
prey  would  be  there  next  morning,  and  we  prepared 
for  early  battle.  To  capture  the  Nashville  would  mean 
the  end  of  our  long  waiting,  and  with  her  cargo  of 
cotton,  big  prize  money  was  possible.  There  was  anx- 
ious watching  and  little  sleep  in  the  vessels  that  night. 


24°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

On  the  morning  of  February  28th,  at  four  o’clock 
sharp,  we  were  called,  and  at  5.20  were  under  way. 
We  ate  little  or  no  breakfast  at  all,  this  time.  Like  a 
darkey  with  a new  pair  of  shoes,  we  were  too  much 
excited  for  breakfast,  and  a little  coffee  and  hardtack 
was  the  most  that  anybody  took. 

There  was  a haze  on  the  river,  and  we  steamed 
slowly  to  avoid  new  obstructions.  At  7.05  we  let  go 
anchor  about  twelve  hundred  yards  below  the  fort, 
and  about  the  same  distance  from  the  Nashville,  lying 
across  the  bend.  There,  indeed,  she  lay,  hard  and  fast 
aground,  the  hasty  unloading  and  the  sturdy  labours 
of  the  little  tug,  which  had  been  going  on  through  the 
night,  having  failed  to  relieve  her.  She  was  a fair 
mark  and  knew  that  she  was  doomed,  and  when  we 
sent  toward  her  now,  an  envoy  of  death  in  the  form  of 
a screaming  eleven-inch  shell,  those  who  had  not  al- 
ready deserted  her,  fled  hastily,  leaving  her  to  her  fate. 

The  battery  on  shore  replied,  but  we  paid  no  atten- 
tion, letting  their  shells  fall  where  they  would.  They 
did  not  even  annoy  us  now,  and  when  a solid  shot  hit 
the  pilot-house  and  broke  in  two,  we  scarcely  remarked 
the  incident.  It  was  only  our  prey,  the  beautiful 
steamer  that  two  years  before  I had  seen  cross  the 
Charleston  Bar  and  fling  out  the  Stars  and  Stripes  at 
our  shot  of  warning,  lying  there  at  last  in  plain  view, 
that  we  wanted  now.  It  seems  a little  sad,  to-day,  that 
the  beautiful  vessel  had  to  go,  but  we  had  no  pity,  then. 

At  first  we  overshot  the  mark.  I had  called  the  dis- 
tance at  twelve  hundred  yards,  while  Cushman,  the 
man  of  mathematics,  had  held  for  fifteen.  We  had  a 
sharp  dispute,  which  Worden  settled  by  ordering  the 


We  Get  the  Nashville  241 

first  guns  trained  at  an  elevation  just  between  our 
figures.  But  it  was  too  far,  and  the  distance  was 
gradually  shortened  down  to  my  figure.  Cushman 
had  perfect  mathematics,  but  his  judgment  of  distance 
was  faulty. 

At  twenty-two  minutes  after  seven  we  landed  a fif- 
teen-inch shell  close  to  the  Nashville,  and  five  and  one- 
half  minutes  later  we  sent  another — it  was  our  fifth 
shot — smashing  into  her  hull,  just  between  the  fore- 
mast and  paddlebox.  Almost  immediately  followed  the 
explosion.  Acting  Master  Pierre  Geraud  was  working 
both  guns  finely,  considering  that  from  his  position 
in  the  turret  below  only  the  masts  and  smokestack  of 
the  vessel  could  be  seen.  We  were  proud  to  show  the 
enemy  that  we  had  a gunner,  too.  They  gave  us  up, 
presently,  and  directed  their  fire  at  the  wooden  gun- 
boats. Smoke  settled  about  us,  and  after  the  eighth 
shot  we  ceased  firing,  to  let  the  air  clear.  Presently  a 
breath  of  wind  swept  the  drift  aside,  and  we  saw  to 
our  great  joy  a dense  column  of  smoke  rising  from  the 
forward  deck  of  the  stranded  vessel.  Our  exploding 
shell  had  set  her  on  fire.  A few  minutes  more,  and 
flames  were  distinctly  visible,  forcing  their  way  up, 
gradually  creeping  aft  until  they  had  reached  nearly 
to  the  base  of  the  smokestack. 

A fog  came  drifting  down  on  us,  threatening  to 
shut  out  the  glorious  sight,  but  it  lifted  every  other 
moment  like  a curtain,  and  it  showed  us  presently, 
with  each  uplifting,  a wonderful  spectacle  of  leaping 
flames  that  shot  higher  and  higher  into  a smoky  can- 
opy above  them.  The  masts  and  smokestack  were  stand- 
ing. Then  the  guys  of  the  latter  loosened — it  tottered, 


242  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

fell,  striking  the  port  paddlebox,  sending  up  a great 
shower  of  glowing  embers  that  rose  and  mingled  with 
the  blackness  above  the  doomed  vessel.  The  rigging 
caught  and  became  torches  and  festoons  of  fire.  At  in- 
tervals the  flames  would  rush  in  a body  aft  and  die 
out  forward,  as  if  the  destroyer  were  racing  to  and  fro 
in  the  joy  of  carnival.  Nothing  but  darkness  could 
have  added  grandeur  to  the  scene. 

We  fired  occasionally,  until  it  became  evident  that 
we  could  not  aid  materially  in  the  destruction  wrought 
by  the  flames.  At  8.06  we  ceased  altogether,  having 
fired  but  fourteen  times.  We  lingered  to  watch  the 
spectacle,  and  presently  from  the  shore  a mighty  white 
smoke  of  burning  cotton  rose  to  mingle  with  the 
darker  clouds  from  the  blazing  vessel,  and  thus  van- 
ished all  hope  of  prize  money,  though  little  we  cared 
in  that  moment  of  triumph,  with  our  enemy  perishing 
before  us,  no  more  to  give  us  anxious  nights,  no  more 
to  wreck  our  commerce  on  the  high  seas. 

We  had  weighed  anchor  and  were  already  drifting 
down  the  river,  when  there  came  from  the  burning 
vessel  a heavy  report,  the  bursting  of  a gun,  perhaps, 
and  then  a little  later  a terrific  explosion,  aft,  where 
her  magazine  lay,  and  the  end  had  come.  Only  a few 
charred  fragments  remained  of  the  vessel,  once  lovely 
in  form  and  of  fair  and  peaceful  purpose,  to  be  doomed 
at  last  to  become  a drift  of  cinders  and  a heap  of  tan- 
gled wires.  In  the  earliest  day  of  her  career  I had  seen 
the  first  shot  of  warning,  and  I had  seen  the  last  that 
had  sent  her  to  her  death.  Beautiful  craft  that  she  was, 
she  deserved  a better  fate ! 

We  drifted  down  the  river,  now,  rejoicing  greatly 


We  Get  the  Nashville  243 

that  our  mission  was  accomplished.  Then  all  at  once 
our  enthusiasm  received  a sudden  chill.  Just  under  our 
hull  there  was  a sound  as  of  a double  explosion,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  the  water  rushed  in.  We  had  struck 
a torpedo  and  sprung  a leak. 

For  a few  minutes  matters  looked  pretty  serious. 
Then  our  pilot  put  us  on  a sandbar,  we  plugged  up  the 
hole,  pumped  out  the  water  and  went  on,  little  the 
worse  for  the  damage.  Down  the  river  the  gunboats 
cheered  wildly  as  we  passed.  When  we  had  reached 
anchor  and  had  enjoyed  a real  breakfast,  everybody 
came  aboard  to  congratulate  us  on  having  completed 
our  mission,  and  especially  on  having  withstood  the 
heaviest  and  most  accurate  land  fire  known,  receiving 
in  the  three  engagements  seventy-two  hits,  besides  that 
from  the  torpedo,  yet  coming  off  with  no  damage 
worth  mentioning.  By  six  o’clock  that  evening  we 
were  again  in  fighting  trim,  and  when  three  days  later 
the  Passaic,  Patapsco,  and  Nahant,  three  more  moni- 
tors, came  down  from  Port  Royal  to  get  their  baptism 
of  fire  and  a day’s  target  practice  with  Fort  McAl- 
lister, our  boys  were  aggrieved  because  we  were  con- 
demned to  be  mere  spectators  on  that  occasion. 

Yet  there  was  a certain  comfort  in  being  able  to  wit- 
ness a monitor  battle  without  being  choked  up  in  a 
turret  or  pilot-house,  and  I think  we  all  enjoyed  it. 
Our  decks  were  covered  with  men,  watching  our  three 
sister  monitors  hammer  away  to  their  heart’s  content. 
There  were  plenty  of  good  hits  on  both  sides,  but  the 
fine  Confederate  earthworks  remained  unsilenced,  and 
our  monitors  came  out  of  the  fight  undamaged,  having 
only  demonstrated  still  more  thoroughly  that  the 


244  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Ericsson  idea  was  to  transform  the  navies  of  the 
world. 

We  were  now  through  on  the  Ogeechee,  for,  with 
the  Nashville  destroyed,  the  fort  was  no  longer  worth 
the  ammunition  and  effort  it  would  take  to  conquer  it, 
and  I hurried  to  Port  Royal  with  the  remainder  of 
my  story. 

. To  say  that  Rear  Admiral  Dupont  was  gratified 
at  the  reports  of  our  destruction  of  the  Nashville,  con- 
veys a poor  idea  of  his  satisfaction.  The  vessel  had 
been  a thorn  in  his  soul  for  many  months.  There  had 
been  continual  rumours  that  he  had  allowed  her  to 
escape,  and  to  know  now  with  certainty  that  she  had 
been  reduced  to  ashes  and  a heap  of  scrap,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  Seven  Mile  Reach,  filled  him  with  supreme 
joy.  He  greeted  me  with  the  greatest  warmth,  and 
when  he  had  finished  reading  my  letter  and  had  made 
a copy  of  it  in  full,  for  his  own  use,  he  returned  it  to 
me  with  permission  to  use  it  exactly  as  written. 

“ There  is  your  letter,”  he  said,  with  that  courtesy 
of  manner  which  made  all  men  honour  and  love  him, 
“ it  has  been  of  the  utmost  value  to  me.  And  here  is 
an  order  to  Captain  Hoey  of  the  Mary  Sanford  for 
your  passage  North.  You  have  also  my  thanks  for 
faithful  service.”  * 

* Port  Royal,  S.  C.,  March  7th,  1863. 

Sir: — You  will  please  give  passage  to  B.  S.  Osbon,  formerly 
attached  to  the  Montauk  to  New  York. 

Yours  respectfully, 

S.  F.  Dupont, 

. Rear  Admiral  Commanding  South  Atlantic  Squadron. 

To  Captain  Hoey, 

Steamer  Mary  Sanford. 


We  Get  the  Nashville  245 

Commander  Worden  conveyed  his  acknowledg- 
ments to  me,  next  day,  in  the  form  of  a letter: 


B.  S.  Osbon. 


Port  Royal,  S.  C., 

Mar.  8,  1863. 


Dear  Sir  : I take  great  pleasure  in  acknowledging  the 
useful  services  rendered  me  as  acting  captain’s  clerk  and 
as  signal  officer,  for  which  latter  service  you  volunteered, 
and  in  which  you  displayed  great  courage  during  the 
recent  operations  of  this  vessel  in  the  Ogeechee  River. 
In  the  two  attacks  made  upon  Fort  McAllister  on  Jan- 
uary 27th  and  February  1st,  your  services  in  observing 
the  ranges  of  the  guns  and  noting  events  that  occurred, 
which  were  of  great  advantage  to  me,  as  my  defective 
eyesight  rendered  my  own  observation  very  unsatisfac- 
tory.* Wishing  you  health  and  prosperity  I am, 

Yours  very  truly, 

John  L.  Worden, 

Commander  U.  S.  N.,  Commanding  Montauk. 


Four  days  later  I was  in  New  York  City,  after  pass- 
ing through  a severe  storm,  and  on  the  next  day, 
March  13th,  my  Montauk  story  and  map  appeared  in 
the  Herald,  making  a full  front  and  the  greater  por- 
tion of  an  inside  page.  As  the  report  of  an  epoch- 
making  event  it  was  translated  into  almost  every  lan- 
guage of  Europe  and,  significantly,  into  one  of  Asia — 
Japanese.  It  was  the  final  death  warrant  of  our 
wooden  navies.  We  had  loved  them  well,  but  the  old 

* Commander  Worden’s  head  was  troubling  him  at  this  time, 
to  which  fact  was  doubtless  due  the  oversight  of  failing  to  men- 
tion my  participation  in  the  action  of  February  28th,  when  the 
Nashville  was  destroyed. 


246  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

order  had  changed.  The  “ wooden  walls  ” tottered,  the 
iron  hull  with  its  revolving  turret — the  “ cheese  box 
on  a raft  ” — had  battled  its  way  into  the  world’s  con- 
fidence. Yet  to-day,  it,  too,  has  passed.  The  order  still 
changes.  From  the  Ericsson  idea  have  been  evolved  the 
great  war  vessels  of  to-day,  with  their  mighty  guns, 
their  turrets,  and  their  conning  towers.  Our  ships 
have  come  back  to  us,  with  walls  of  steel — their  pigmy 
progenitors  are  no  more. 

The  Monitor  lies  off  Cape  Hatteras  beneath  a hun- 
dred fathoms  of  water.  The  Montauk  was  sold  at  auc- 
tion in  1904,  and  went  into  the  scrap  heap.  I have 
always  thought  the  Government  should  have  preserved 
her.  I should  have  done  so  myself  had  I had  the 
means. 


XXXIX 

Mr.  Fox  Catches  His  Game  at  Last 

UPON  my  return  from  the  Ogeechee  I made 
another  brief  but  profitable  venture  into  the 
lecture  field.  I announced  that  I would  give  a 
talk  at  Niblo’s  Garden  on  “ Fighting  with  Iron  Ves- 
sels,” and  a large  crowd  gathered  to  hear  me.  Captain 
Ericsson  made  me  a number  of  chalk  drawings  on  a 
blackboard — diagrams  and  the  like — all  remarkable 
for  their  beauty  and  detail — various  shipbuilders  con- 
tributed a number  of  fine  models ; and  I told  the  story 
of  the  battles  of  the  Montauk,  with  a net  result  of  nine 
hundred  dollars  for  this  one  lecture. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  lecture  I gave  that  day — the 
first  having  been  delivered  to  the  smallest  audience  I 
ever  entertained,  and  at  the  highest  price  of  admis- 
sion. Niblo’s  Garden  was  then  owned  by  the  great 
merchant,  A.  T.  Stewart,  who  with  a friend  had 
dropped  in  during  the  morning.  Noticing  the  draw- 
ings and  models,  he  had  asked  what  they  were  to 
illustrate. 

I happened  to  overhear  the  question,  and  replied, 
“ They  are  to  be  used  in  my  lecture  on  monitors  and 
their  fighting  value.  Having  served  in  one,  I am  go- 
ing to  give  a talk  on  the  subject.  If  you  will  sit  down 
for  a moment  I will  give  you  some  idea  of  what  I 
intend  to  say.” 

Mr.  Stewart  and  his  friend  sat  down  willingly 
247 


248  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

enough,  and  I spent  about  twenty  minutes  in  telling 
them  the  story  of  the  Montauk.  When  I had  finished 
they  thanked  me  and  went  away.  I called  next  morn- 
ing at  Mr.  Stewart’s  store  to  pay  for  the  rent  of  the 
hall,  the  price  of  which  was  one  hundred  dollars. 
When  I had  settled  this  matter  with  the  cashier,  I was 
told  that  Mr.  Stewart  desired  to  see  me,  and  a little 
later  was  ushered  into  his  private  office.  He  was  very 
cordial  and  asked  me  if  I had  done  well  with  my  lec- 
ture— once  more  thanking  me  for  the  entertainment 
of  the  day  before.  He  then  bade  me  good-morning, 
and  as  I passed  out  the  cashier  handed  me  my  receipt 
for  the  hall  rent  and  with  it  a sealed  envelope.  When 
I was  out  on  the  street  I opened  the  envelope  with 
some  curiosity,  expecting  possibly  the  price  of  two 
tickets,  certainly  not  more,  for  Mr.  Stewart  had  the 
name  of  being  somewhat  parsimonious.  What  was  my 
surprise  and  gratification  to  find  nice  new  bills  to  the 
amount  of  one  hundred  dollars.  Mr.  Stewart  had  re- 
mitted my  fine. 

I have  now  arrived  at  the  sequel  to  the  Fort  Sumter 
episode — the  unhappy  result  of  having  omitted  from 
my  report  of  that  expedition,  by  his  own  request,  the 
name  of  Gustavus  V.  Fox,  later  Assistant  Secretary 
of  the  Navy.  As  we  have  already  seen,  the  relief  ex- 
pedition had  been  Fox’s  idea,  and  a failure.  He  had 
expected  public  censure  on  his  return,  and  as  a special 
favour  to  him  I had  omitted  his  name  from  my  news 
report.  When,  therefore,  the  patriotic  public  rose  up 
and  bestowed  honour  upon  the  expedition  and  all  con- 
nected therewith,  the  friends  of  Mr.  Fox  naturally  in- 
quired why  he  had  received  no  mention  in  my  article. 


Mr.  Fox  Catches  His  Game  249 

He  declared  that  he  could  not  explain  my  motive, 
whereupon  I promptly  stated  the  facts  in  full,  with  the 
result  that  Fox  became  very  bitter,  using  his  influence 
as  Assistant  Secretary  to  oppose  and  handicap  me  in 
my  work,  even  seeking  to  discredit  me  with  Secretary 
Welles.  Eventually  his  opportunity  to  punish  me  came. 
It  happened  in  this  wise: 

Frederic  Hudson  retired  from  the  management  of 
the  Herald,  and  during  the  latter  part  of  1864  I,  also, 
resigned  my  position  on  that  paper  to  establish  a 
bureau  of  naval  intelligence,  from  which  I sent  news 
to  various  journals,  both  in  New  York  City  and  else- 
where, this  being  one  of  the  first  news  syndicates — 
the  very  first,  so  far  as  I know.  Being  in  touch  with 
the  officers  in  the  various  squadrons,  news  came  to 
me  freely— commanders  sometimes  sending  advance 
news,  with  the  request  that  it  should  not  be  used  until 
officially  reported  by  the  Government.  It  was  late  in 
December,  1864,  when  the  combined  attack  by  land 
and  sea  was  to  be  made  on  Fort  Fisher,  North  Caro- 
lina, and  several  days  in  advance  Admiral  Porter  for- 
warded me  his  final  order  of  battle,  from  which  I had 
prepared  a carefully  written  preliminary  story  of  the 
operations.  This,  manifolded,  had  been  sent  out  to 
fifteen  or  twenty  papers,  with  the  express  understand- 
ing that  it  was  not  to  be  published  until  news  of  the 
actual  attack  had  been  received.  Every  paper  stood  by 
the  agreement  but  one.  A rumour  of  an  attack  was 
circulated,  and  one  journal  in  its  desire  to  be 
“ prompt  ” did  not  wait  for  verification,  but  printed 
my  matter  in  full. 

This  was  Mr.  Fox's  opportunity.  Technically  I had 


2 5°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

violated  the  Fifty-ninth  Article  of  War,  and  by  the 
assistant  secretary’s  orders  I was  arrested,  charged 
with  having  given  intelligence  to  the  enemy.  On  the 
first  day  of  January,  1865 — two  weeks  before  the  bat- 
tle really  took  place — I was  taken  into  custody  at  my 
office  in  New  York  City,  and  without  being  allowed  to 
communicate  with  any  of  my  friends,  was  hurried  to 
Washington  and  confined  in  the  old  Capitol  Prison, 
where  many  a better  man  than  I suffered  long  and 
ignominious  imprisonment  to  satisfy  the  pique  of  some 
public  official. 

It  was  three  months  from  the  day  of  my  imprison- 
ment before  I saw  daylight  again.  Then,  one  rainy 
morning,  I was  escorted  by  two  soldiers  to  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Military  Commission,  where  I refused 
to  plead  to  the  charge  of  furnishing  the  enemy  with 
information,  suggesting  that  they  shoot  me  first  and 
try  me  afterward,  as  had  been  done  in  the  case  of  two 
of  my  predecessors.  I was  taken  back  to  my  cell,  and 
Senator  Charles  Sumner,  whom  I had  never  met,  in- 
terested himself  in  my  case,  with  the  result  that, 
though  I still  remained  in  limbo,  the  Military  Com- 
mission was  abolished. 

Meantime  my  father  came  to  Washington  and  vis- 
ited me  in  prison,  asking  me  immediately  if  I was 
guilty. 

I replied  that  I had  done  no  intentional  wrong,  that, 
whatever  else  I might  be,  I was  not  a traitor  to  my 
country. 

My  father  then  went  up  to  the  White  House  and 
told  my  story  to  Mr.  Lincoln,  who  listened  attentively, 
and  said: 


Mr.  Fox  Catches  His  Game  251 

“ Doctor,  your  son  is  not  a traitor.  I know  him 
well — he  couldn't  be.  My  advice  is  to  have  him  stand 
trial,  by  all  means.  If  they  do  manage  to  convict  him, 
which  I don’t  believe  they  will,  I will  see  that  he  is 
not  shot.” 

My  father  came  back  with  the  news  that  Mr.  Lin- 
coln had  agreed  to  stand  by  me,  which  was  most  com- 
forting, for  months  of  confinement  in  a wretched  cell 
take  the  cheer  out  of  the  strongest  heart. 

A few  days  later  I was  called  downstairs  and  told 
to  pack  my  belongings.  There  being  no  longer  a Mili- 
tary Court  in  Washington,  I was  to  be  taken  to  New 
York  for  trial.  Arriving  in  that  city,  I was  conducted 
first  to  General  Dix’s  headquarters  in  Bleecker  Street, 
thence  to  Ludlow  Street  Jail,  where  I was  made  com- 
paratively comfortable  and  treated  with  unusual  con- 
sideration, for  the  story  of  my  unjust  arrest  and 
incarceration  had  been  exhaustively  published  in  the 
New  York  papers.  General  Dix,  always  a good  friend, 
had  given  orders  that  I was  to  be  brought  to  see  him 
whenever  I wished  to  come,  and  I visited  him  often. 
Then  one  morning  my  trial  by  court-martial  began, 
and  for  several  days  I was  a figure  of  national  interest 
— the  papers  everywhere  commenting  freely  on  what 
they  declared  was  an  unjustifiable  proceeding  on  the 
part  of  public  officials — one  paper,  the  Tribune,  assert- 
ing that  it  had  cost  the  Government  sixty  thousand 
dollars  to  try  an  innocent  man.  The  farce  closed  at 
last,  with  a verdict  of  acquittal — a fortunate  one  for 
me,  for,  during  the  days  of  my  trial,  that  great  and 
noble  man  who  had  promised  to  stand  by  me — Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  the  man  whom  of  all  others  I shall  most 


25 2 A Sailor  of  Fortune 

revere  to  my  dying  day — was  shot  down,  and  his  body 
taken  through  New  York  City  without  my  being  able 
to  pay  any  small  tribute  to  his  sacred  dust. 

When  everything  was  over,  and  I was  a free  man 
once  more,  an  old  shipbuilder  whom  I had  known  for 
many  years  called  me  to  his  office  one  day  and  handed 
me  a package. 

“ This  is  a little  testimonial,”  he  said,  “ from  your 
friends  in  this  city.  Take  it  and  go  into  the  country 
and  recuperate.” 

The  package  contained  five  thousand  dollars  in  cash. 


XL 

I Become  a Part  of  the  Mexican  Problem 

I HAVE  already  briefly  referred  to  the  allied  fleets 
of  England,  France,  and  Spain  which  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1862,  were  lying  in  Havana  Harbour,  their 
purpose  being  to  compel  payment  of  the  very  large 
sums  due  from  the  Mexican  Republic,  with  the  ul- 
terior motive  of  usurpation,  on  the  part  of  France.  It 
is  true  that  England  and  Spain  withdrew  from  the 
alliance  when  the  French  scheme  became  evident,  but 
not  before  they  had  given  force  and  character  to  the 
expedition,  which  was  precisely  as  the  wily  French 
sovereign  had  planned. 

Like  his  great  uncle,  Napoleon  III.  was  ambitious 
of  conquest.  He  saw  in  Mexico  a vast  empire  over 
which  he  would  exercise  suzerainty,  and  so  command 
a key  position  in  the  Western  World.  With  the  Mexi- 
can Republic  in  so  chaotic  a state  as  it  was  in  the  early 
sixties,  and  with  the  United  States  in  no  position  to 
enforce  the  Monroe  Doctrine,  the  French  ruler  with- 
out much  difficulty  bore  down  upon  the  disordered 
Government  of  Benito  Juarez,  and  in  1864  established 
the  so-called  Mexican  Empire — seating  a ruler  of  his 
own  selection,  Ferdinand  Joseph  Maximilian  of  Aus- 
tria, on  the  throne. 

The  story  of  Prince  Maximilian  and  his  beautiful 
wife,  Carlotta  of  Belgium,  is  one  of  the  saddest  in  all 

253 


254  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

history.  They  were  ideally  wed  and  lived  in  perfect 
happiness  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  European 
castles,  Miramar,  on  the  Adriatic,  near  Trieste.  Maxi- 
milian had  been  admiral  of  the  Austrian  Navy  and  gov- 
ernor of  the  Lombardo-Venetian  kingdom,  filling  each 
office  with  great  honour,  beloved  by  those  about  him. 
He  was  not  averse  to  official  duties,  yet  preferred  lit- 
erary and  philanthropic  pursuits,  and  the  Princess 
Carlotta  was  in  full  sympathy  with  his  every  aim  and 
enterprise.  It  was  to  Miramar  that  the  commissioners 
of  Napoleon  came  to  invite  Maximilian  to  accept  the 
throne  of  Mexico,  urging  upon  him  the  plea  that  he 
was  the  one  man  to  lift  up  and  regenerate  a fallen  peo- 
ple. More  than  all  else,  Maximilian  loved  the  distinc- 
tion of  being  regarded  as  a benefactor,  an  ambition 
shared  by  his  princess,  who,  furthermore,  was  perhaps 
dazzled  a little  by  the  pleasing  prospect  of  a crown. 
The  Austrian  prince  agreed  that  he  would  accept  the 
proffered  throne  if  the  people  of  Mexico  themselves 
wanted  him,  and  means  were  found  to  assure  him  that 
such  was  the  fact.  It  was  in  May,  1864,  that  he  en- 
tered into  his  empire,  assuming  the  title  of  Maxi- 
milian I. 

His  triumph  was  short  lived.  Though  vanquished 
and  disorganised,  a very  large  element  of  the  Mexican 
people  were  still  loyal  to  Benito  Juarez,  and  from  the 
very  beginning  Maximilian  had  to  battle  for  his 
throne.  Furthermore,  he  was  steadfastly  ignored  by 
the  Government  of  the  United  States,  while  Napoleon, 
who  had  counted  on  the  South  as  his  chief  ally,  began 
to  realise  with  each  succeeding  Northern  victory  that 
the  tenure  of  empire  in  Mexico  was  becoming  an  un- 


The  Mexican  Problem  2 55 

certain  and  precarious  thing.  The  future  was  obscure 
and  portentous  for  the  new  ruler  and  his  lovely  em- 
press, and  each  day  added  a darker  cloud. 

Finally,  in  1866,  affairs  in  Mexico  reached  a crisis. 
Our  own  war  was  ended,  and  with  a vast  host  of 
veterans  and  a splendid  army  and  navy,  we  were  in  a 
position  to  make  and  enforce  demands.  True  to  the 
Monroe  Doctrine,  the  United  States  suggested  to  Napo- 
leon, diplomatically  but  forcibly,  that  French  interfer- 
ence in  Mexico  was  an  affront  to  American  institutions, 
no  longer  to  be  countenanced — in  a word,  that  his 
troops  must  be  withdrawn.  Napoleon  was  further  given 
to  understand  in  no  uncertain  terms  that  the  United 
States  would,  if  necessary,  cooperate  with  the  sup- 
porters of  Juarez,  the  Liberals,  in  their  efforts  to  over- 
throw French  and  Austrian  dominion  on  Mexican 
soil. 

The  French  Emperor  was  in  no  position  to  resist. 
Though  by  various  evasions  seeking  to  defer  the  final 
day,  he  did  not  fail  to  realise  that  the  end  of  his  Mexi- 
can empire  was  at  hand,  and  he  urged  Maximilian  to 
abdicate.  This  the  latter  refused  to  do.  He  was  no 
fair  weather  ruler.  Brave,  unselfish,  and  still  deluded, 
he  believed  in  the  full  justice  of  his  cause,  and  that 
the  uplifting,  and  final  salvation,  of  Mexico  depended 
on  his  courage  and  the  maintenance  of  a paternal, 
though  imperial,  power. 

It  was  just  at  this  point  that  I became,  in  some 
measure  at  least,  a part  of  the  Mexican  problem.  After 
several  months  of  rest,  succeeding  the  trying  days  of 
my  enforced  retirement,  I had  once  more  established 
my  news  bureau,  with  almost  the  entire  support  of  the 


2 56  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

New  York  City  press.  The  Tribune,  the  Times,  the 
Sun,  and  others  gave  me  their  patronage.  Horace 
Greeley  was  particularly  forceful  in  his  denunciation 
of  my  accusers,  and  I can  see  him  now  as  he  turned 
from  writing  at  his  high  stand-up  desk  to  grasp  my 
hand  and  to  give  vent  to  his  feelings  in  some  good 
Anglo-Saxon  phrases.  Matters  started  off  smoothly, 
and  with  fair  prospects  ahead  I supposed  I was  on 
shore  this  time  for  good.  Certainly  I had  no  notion 
of  any  immediate  personal  connection  with  naval 
affairs. 

But  the  future  is  full  of  surprises.  I was  at  this  time 
boarding  in  the  old  brownstone  mansion  at  216  East 
17th  Street,  and  in  the  same  house  was  a Mr.  Tifft, 
of  the  firm  of  Corliss  & Tifft,  bankers.  I knew  Mr. 
Tifft  well,  and  one  day  he  presented  me  to  a new  guest, 
General  Jose  M.  Carvajal,  of  Mexico.  In  due  time  I 
learned  that  General  Carvajal  was  one  of  those  who 
had  been  commissioned  by  President  Juarez  to  raise 
funds  in  this  country,  and  that  Corliss  & Tifft  had 
undertaken  to  float  a Mexican  loan.  I was  now  invited 
to  become  press  agent,  and  through  my  bureau  I dis- 
tributed a vast  quantity  of  printed  matter,  also  send- 
ing out  a news  story  of  General  Carvajal’s  presence 
in  the  United  States,  of  his  mission  and  his  needs — 
concluding  with  the  statement  that  he  was  about  to 
float  a loan,  to  which  all  patriotic  persons  who  desired 
to  support  the  Monroe  Doctrine  should  subscribe. 

Our  efforts  were  successful.  The  public  resented  the 
French  interference  and  declared  in  a substantial  man- 
ner that  Maximilian  must  go.  For  the  man  himself 
there  was  no  enmity — only  compassion.  It  was  what 


The  Mexican  Problem  257 

he  represented  on  American  soil  that  we  could  not 
tolerate.  The  Mexican  loan  was  floated  in  due  season. 

Meantime,  I had  naturally  become  very  friendly 
with  General  Carvajal,  and  he  had  frequently  dis- 
cussed with  me  certain  proposed  naval  operations. 
Eventually  he  suggested  that  we  visit  Washington  to- 
gether, and  upon  our  arrival  there  asked  me  to  intro- 
duce him  to  David  G.  Farragut,  who  had  just  been 
made  an  admiral  and  was  then  at  the  Capital.  It  was 
in  the  old  Navy  Department  building  that  we  met 
Farragut,  and  here  I introduced  the  two  distinguished 
men,  who  at  once  fell  into  conversation  upon  army 
and  navy  matters  and  the  problems  which  those  of 
Mexico  presented.  At  last  General  Carvajal  said: 

“ Admiral,  I am  looking  for  a man  to  command  the 
Navy  of  my  country.  Can  you  recommend  to  me  such 
a person  ? ” 

Farragut  reflected  an  instant,  then,  turning  to  me, 
laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

“ Why  not  Osbon,  General  ? ” he  asked.  “ I think 
he’s  just  the  man  you  want.” 

General  Carvajal  thanked  him  and  seemed  pleased. 
Then  we  made  our  adieus  to  the  admiral  and  left  the 
building  together.  As  we  were  going  down  the  steps 
I said: 

“ General,  you  brought  me  before  Farragut  to  get 
his  indorsement.” 

“ That  is  a correct  guess,”  he  replied ; “ I did.” 

Yet  I wished  him  to  be  fully  satisfied  in  all  par- 
ticulars that  I was  the  man  for  the  place,  and  some- 
what later  wrote  a letter  to  my  old  commanding 
officer  of  steam  shipping  days,  Captain  John  Me- 


258  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Gowan,  asking  him  to  express  an  opinion  as  to  my 
qualifications.  Captain  McGowan  was  now  in  the 
Revenue  Service,  and  he  replied  in  due  season,  as 
follows : 

Treasury  Department. 

Washington,  D.  C.,  Sept.  25th,  1866. 

Mr.  B.  S.  Osbon  served  under  my  command  as  (third, 
second,  and  chief)  officer  on  board  the  steamships  Illinois , 
St.  Louis,  and  Moses  Taylor,  during  which  time  he  gave 
me  the  fullest  satisfaction.  He  is  intelligent,  active,  ener- 
getic and  prompt  in  obeying  orders,  which  are  sure  signs 
that  he  will  make  a good  commander.  I have  no  hesita- 
tion in  recommending  him  to  fill  any  position  on  board 
of  any  class  of  vessel,  as  his  conduct  during  the  time  he 
has  been  under  my  command  is  a sufficient  guarantee  he 
will  not  be  found  wanting  when  active  service  is  required. 

John  McGowan, 

Commander , U.  S.  Revenue  Service . 


XLI 

The  Creation  of  a Navy 

IMMEDIATELY  upon  our  return  from  Washing- 
ton General  Carvajal  directed  me  to  take  such 
steps  as  were  necessary  to  secure  and  fit  out  an 
armed  vessel.  This  had  to  be  done  with  very  great 
caution.  Though  declaring  openly  for  the  cause  of  the 
Mexican  Republic,  the  United  States  was  still  at  peace 
with  the  French  nation,  and  our  diplomatic  contin- 
gent— perhaps  a little  jealous  of  its  prerogative  and 
its  ability  to  settle  matters  without  the  burning  of 
powder — was  exceedingly  watchful  for  any  move  that 
might  be  construed  as  an  act  of  war.  It  is  true  the 
Navy  and  the  Military  had  little  sympathy  or  patience 
with  this  diplomacy.  As  early  as  1864  Grant  had  de- 
clared to  his  generals  that  as  soon  as  he  had  disposed 
of  the  Confederates  he  would  begin  with  the  Imperial- 
ists in  Mexico,  and  in  May,  1865,  he  had  ordered 
Sheridan  with  fifty  thousand  men  into  the  Southwest, 
ostensibly  for  the  purpose  of  restoring  Texas  and 
Louisiana  to  the  Union,  but  in  reality  to  have  troops 
ready  to  throw  across  the  Rio  Grande  at  any  mo- 
ment. 

Sheridan  was  charged  by  the  State  Department  to 
be  diplomatic,  an  order  which  that  dashing  officer, 
whose  diplomacy  was  apt  to  be  outlined  with  the  point 
of  a sabre,  construed  in  his  own  way.  He  did  not 

259 


260  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

hesitate  to  render  material  assistance  to  Juarez,  and 
at  one  time  sent  over  thirty  thousand  muskets  from 
Baton  Rouge  alone.*  The  State  Department  could  do 
no  more  than  discountenance  Grant  and  Sheridan,  but 
an  expedition  like  mine  could  be  nipped  in  the  bud. 
It  was  no  easy  matter  to  fit  out,  man,  and  provision  a 
Mexican  ship  of  war  in  an  American  port  and  to  get 
away  to  sea,  unknown  to  the  civil  authorities.  My 
problem  was  further  complicated  by  French  spies,  who 
in  some  manner  had  received  a hint  of  our  intention 
and  dogged  me  whichever  way  I turned. 

Yet  I eluded  them  now  and  then.  I kept  my  news 
bureau  going,  and  acted  through  faithful  agents  when 
necessary.  I selected  a steamer  in  New  York,  another 
in  Boston,  and  a third  in  Philadelphia  as  possible  pur- 
chases, and  I think  we  led  those  French  detectives  the 
liveliest  chase  of  their  lives.  I visited  in  person  the 
steamers  in  Boston  and  New  York,  but  kept  away  from 
the  one  in  Philadelphia,  the  vessel  that  was  to  go.  My 
officers  and  men  were  selected  separately  and  secretly, 
no  two  being  ever  allowed  to  meet. 

It  would  require  pages  to  relate  even  a portion  of 
our  experiences  in  getting  our  vessel — curiously 
enough  named  the  General  Sheridan — into  shape  for 
active  service.  In  a comparatively  brief  period,  how- 
ever, she  was  ready  for  sea,  and  as  a blind  I made  a 
trip  to  Boston,  returning  so  that  my  departure  would 
take  place  on  Sunday,  when,  as  was  then  the  case,  the 
telegraph  offices  would  be  closed.  I had  arranged  for 

* Sheridan  in  his  memoirs  says : “ It  required  the  patience  of 
Job  to  abide  the  slow  and  poky  methods  of  our  State  De- 
partment.” 


The  Creation  of  a Navy  261 

a tug  to  proceed  up  the  Hudson  River  early  on  Sun- 
day morning,  also  for  two  cars  to  be  attached  to  the 
morning  express  on  the  Hudson  River  Railroad.  The 
cars  were  to  take  my  men  a little  way  up  the  river,  and 
the  tug  was  to  bring  them  back — the  whole  being  a 
plan  to  evade  the  spies,  who,  we  knew,  were  now 
watching  us  night  and  day,  with  the  hope  of  being 
able  to  give  information  sufficiently  positive  to  thwart 
our  undertaking. 

My  men,  each  of  whom  had  been  notified  of  the 
hour  and  place  of  starting,  came  promptly,  and  filled 
the  two  cars  waiting  in  the  Hudson  River  yards.  The 
regular  train  backed  and  hooked  on  to  them,  and  we 
were  off.  I knew  in  all  reason  that  the  detectives  were 
on  ahead,  and,  sure  enough,  when  we  reached  Spuyten 
Duyvil  Creek  two  of  them  put  in  an  appearance,  and 
attempted  to  enter  our  cars. 

It  was  now  time  for  positive  action,  and  we  denied 
them  admittance. 

“ We  are  officers  of  the  law,”  they  declared,  “ and 
demand  that  you  let  us  in ! ” 

“ Gentlemen,”  I said,  “ we  don’t  care  a tinker’s  dam 
for  any  law  that  you  represent.  If  you  make  a fuss  we 
will  drop  you  off  the  train.” 

They  retired  inside  their  own  coach  and  we  ran 
along  until  we  were  not  far  from  Tarry  town,  when 
we  saw  our  tug,  and,  by  prearrangement,  our  coupling- 
pin  was  drawn  and  our  two  cars  left  behind,  slowing 
down,  while  the  train  proceeded  on  its  peaceful  way, 
the  two  spies  shaking  their  fists  and  reviling  us  from 
the  rear  platform. 

The  tug  now  came  along  the  bank  and  we  hastily 


/ 

262  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

embarked,  proceeding  back  down  the  river,  arriving  at 
Jersey  City,  where  we  took  train  for  Philadelphia. 

Those  were  days  of  slow  travel.  The  train,  a freight, 
took  eleven  hours  to  reach  Philadelphia,  and  it  was 
midnight  when  we  marched  through  the  sleeping  town 
toward  the  Camden  ferry.  There  were  eighty  of  us, 
officers  and  men,  and  we  were  suddenly  hailed  by  a 
policeman  who  demanded  our  identity  and  errand. 

“ A draft  of  men  for  the  Navy  Yard,”  I said,  and 
we  were  allowed  to  pass. 

At  Kaighn’s  Point  our  vessel  was  under  steam  and 
ready  for  sea,  with  a number  of  men  on  board,  re- 
cruited around  Philadelphia  by  Mr.  Jackway,  my  cap- 
tain, himself  formerly  of  the  Coast  Survey  Service — 
a fine  navigator,  a brave,  capable  man,  and  a thorough 
sailor  of  fortune.  Our  vessel’s  former  commander, 
however,  was  still  nominally  in  charge,  and  we  had 
cleared  under  his  name  in  order  to  create  no  suspicion 
in  the  Custom  House. 

At  five  next  morning  a pilot  was  to  have  been  on 
board.  I waited  for  him  ten  minutes,  then  concluded 
it  unwise  to  delay  longer.  Undoubtedly  the  detectives 
had  by  this  time  suspected  our  destination,  and  would 
be  down  upon  us  by  the  first  train.  Also,  the  telegraph 
was  now  available,  and  every  moment  seemed  pre- 
cious. Without  further  delay  we  cast  off  lines  and 
steamed  down  the  Delaware.  The  Mexican  Navy  was 
under  way  at  last. 


XLII 

Great  Plans,  and  What  Came  of  Them 

THE  General  Sheridan,  which  we  intended  to 
rechristen  the  Margarita  Juarez,  after  the 
Mexican  President’s  daughter,  was  what  to- 
day might  be  called  a large,  ocean-going  tug.  She  was 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  long,  and  a 
very  powerful  vessel.  She  was  to  be  armed  with  six 
Wiard  steel  rifles  and  with  a torpedo  outfit,  this  arma- 
ment and  our  munitions  of  war  to  follow  on  another 
vessel,  owned  by  the  same  people  who  had  sold  us 
the  Sheridan.  Our  officers  and  crew  were  picked  men, 
all  veterans  of  the  Civil  War,  and  as  fine  a lot  as  I have 
ever  seen  collected  on  one  vessel.  Our  wardroom  per- 
sonnel was  pretentious.  As  chief  officer  of  the  em- 
bryo navy,  I also  carried  the  title  of  admiral,  with 
power  to  convert  prizes  into  privateers  with  letters 
of  marque  for  destroying  the  French  marine.  Next  in 
rank  came  Captain  Jackway,  who,  in  event  of  our 
accumulating  a squadron,  would  become  fleet  captain. 
I had  also  two  lieutenants  and  a secretary — the  last  a 
remarkable  person  who  spoke  and  wrote  fluently  in 
nine  languages.  Officers  and  crew  were  to  have  one- 
half  of  all  prize  moneys,  and  now  that  we  had  been 
allowed  to  get  to  sea  unmolested,  we  were  a happy 
set  of  fellows  as  we  headed  for  the  South,  dreaming 
of  stirring  adventures  and  golden  fortunes  ahead. 

263 


264  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

My  orders  from  General  Carvajal  were  to  proceed 
to  Brazos  Santiago,  a small  harbour  just  above  the 
mouth  of  the  Rio  Grande,  there  to  receive  further  or- 
ders. The  general  himself  was  to  come  down  by  pas- 
senger steamer  and  be  there  on  my  arrival.  It  was  our 
plan  to  begin  the  campaign  by  following  down  the 
Mexican  coast,  keeping  in  touch  with  what  was  going 
on  by  means  of  information  signalled  from  the  shore, 
finally  to  slip  into  the  harbour  of  Vera  Cruz  by  night 
and  destroy  the  French  vessels  there,  by  torpedoing 
one,  and  capturing  the  others  in  the  confusion  which 
would  ensue. 

As  for  the  merchant  marine,  we  went  so  far,  before 
leaving  New  York,  as  to  have  ransom  bonds  prepared 
for  the  entire  French  transatlantic  fleet — for  the 
different  ships  by  name,  with  the  amount  to  be  levied 
on  each.  Well,  it  is  good  to  make  plans  and  to  dream 
dreams.  The  planning  and  dreaming  of  themselves  are 
worth  something. 

We  had  a rough  passage  between  New  York  and 
our  destination.  I ran  into  the  usual  storm  off  Hat- 
teras  and  had  a hard  time  to  save  the  vessel.  A strong 
norther  was  blowing  when  we  arrived  off  Brazos  San- 
tiago, with  a big  sea  on  the  bar  and  no  more  than  two 
wheelbarrow-loads  of  coal  in  our  bunkers.  By  the 
skilful  pilotage  of  Captain  Jackway  we  managed  to 
get  in,  and  I was  met  immediately  upon  landing  by  a 
representative  of  General  Carvajal,  and  was  conducted 
by  him  on  horseback  to  the  general’s  ranch  at  Browns- 
ville, Texas,  a number  of  miles  away.  Here  we  still 
further  perfected  our  plans,  and  I returned  to  the  ves- 
sel to  await  our  armament  and  munitions. 


Great  Plans  265 

But  they  never  came.  The  vessel  carrying  them  had 
been  caught  like  ourselves  off  Hatteras,  and  with  less 
fortune.  She  had  gone  down,  and  our  Wiard  rifles 
and  torpedo  outfit  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

I took  a bronco  and  rode  over  to  convey  the  sad 
news  to  General  Carvajal.  He  took  it  stoically. 

“ Never  mind,”  he  said.  “ To  keep  your  men  busy, 
leave  the  Sheridan  at  Brazos  and  come  over  here.”  So 
we  packed  our  baggage,  got  a lot  of  teams  to  do  the 
hauling,  and  I was  presently  admiral  of  a wagon  train 
with  a force  of  “ horse-marines  ” on  the  way  to  Gen- 
eral Carvajal’s  ranch.  Certainly  this  was  not  much 
like  a realisation  of  our  fine  plans,  and  though  the  boys 
rather  enjoyed  going  into  camp  as  a sort  of  a picnic, 
I began  to  suspect  that  my  dreams  of  conquest  and 
naval  supremacy  had  come  to  a sudden  and  rather 
ridiculous  end. 

But  General  Carvajal  was  not  disturbed.  He  took 
me  to  the  Rio  Grande  and  pointing  down  the  Mexican 
side,  said, 

“ There  is  a gunboat  belonging  to  the  Mexican 
Navy,  but  she  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Revo- 
lutionists. Do  you  think  you  can  capture  her  by 
boarding  ? ” 

The  Revolutionists,  it  should  be  said,  had  little  or 
nothing  to  do  with  the  affair  we  had  come  to  settle, 
but  carried  on  a sort  of  guerrilla  warfare  in  the  State 
of  Tamaulipas — there  being  many  of  these  local  revo- 
lutions at  this  time. 

The  vessel  across  the  river  was  a sidewheel  steam- 
boat of  the  ordinary  Western  river  type,  of  very  light 
draft  and  lying  in  shallow  water.  The  river  at  this 


266  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

time  was  low,  and  it  seemed  only  a question  of  swim' 
ming  a short  distance  and  surprising  a small  crew  on 
board.  I looked  at  the  prospective  prize  for  a moment 
and  said  I thought  the  boys  would  like  the  job.  In 
fact,  I knew  they  would,  for  they  were  just  the  sort 
of  fellows  for  that  kind  of  work.  When  we  returned 
to  the  ranch  and  I proposed  it  to  them,  they  wanted  to 
set  out  at  once. 

We  decided  that  the  next  night  would  be  a good 
time  to  capture  the  Chinaco  (which  translated  meant 
“ robber,”  or  “thief”),  and  accordingly,  a little  after 
dusk  on  the  following  day,  we  went  down  to  the  river 
bank  with  our  revolvers  and  ammunition  tied  to  our 
heads,  and  waded  out  very  silently  until  it  was  neces- 
sary to  swim.  After  swimming  a distance  of  perhaps 
thirty  yards  we  were  once  more  in  wading  depth,  and 
crept  silently  up  under  the  guards  of  the  steamer, 
which  drew  not  more  than  two  and  one-half  feet  of 
water;  and  before  our  friends  knew  we  were  any- 
where in  the  neighbourhood  we  had  boarded  from  all 
sides.  They  surrendered  without  firing  a shot,  and  the 
Mexican  Admiral  had  a new  flagship,  carrying  one 
twelve-pounder  brass  rifle  and  six  mountain  howitzers 
as  a total  armament.  Notwithstanding  her  light  bat- 
tery, she  was  a serviceable  vessel  for  river  use,  and 
when  a few  days  later  we  had  the  Margarita  Juarez, 
as  I concluded  to  name  her,  in  apple-pie  order,  with  a 
supply  of  ammunition  borrowed  from  the  United 
States  forces  in  Brownsville,  and  with  a crew  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty  picked  men,  we  constituted  rather 
a formidable  adjunct  of  the  Juarez  Government,  as 
time  proved. 


Great  Plans  267 

There  now  succeeded  several  weeks  of  waiting  filled 
with  minor  events,  many  of  which  I could  not  explain, 
but  which  I now  suspect  resulted  from  the  lack  of  har- 
mony between  the  State  and  Military  Departments  at 
Washington.  I think  very  few  of  us  understood  what 
was  going  on,  or  what  were  our  positions  at  that  time. 
For  myself,  I was  nominally  in  the  employ  of  the 
Mexican  Republic,  yet  it  is  quite  certain  that  my  sup- 
plies, and  many  of  my  orders,  were  of  American 
origin,  the  latter  transmitted  through  General  Car- 
vajal. 

I have  always  suspected  that  there  was  some  plan 
on  foot,  in  which  the  restoration  of  Juarez  was  only 
the  first  step,  and  that  General  Grant  was  chiefly  con- 
cerned in  the  idea.  Grant  was  always  an  annexation- 
ist, and  certainly  there  was  little  evidence  at  this  time 
that  Mexico,  under  any  form  of  government,  was  able 
to  govern  herself.  Furthermore  there  was  thought  to 
be  need  of  an  outlet  for  the  manumitted  slaves  and  for 
the  large  floating  element  of  white  men  who  had  served 
as  soldiers  in  the  Union  army.  Always  deeply  inter- 
ested in  Mexican  affairs,  it  is  not  impossible  that 
Grant’s  programme  included  a dream  of  extending 
our  dominion  across  the  Rio  Grande  to  embrace  the 
land  of  the  Montezumas. 

But  whatever  the  purpose — if  there  was  a purpose 
— it  came  to  nothing,  and  thus  far  has  not  been  made 
public.  Generals  Grant,  Lew  Wallace,  Sheridan,  and 
perhaps  Sherman,  knew  what  was  going  on,  and  Gen- 
eral Wallace  must  have  thought  that  I was  in  the 
secret,  for  at  a Grand  Army  Encampment  dinner  long 
afterward  he  said : “ Gentlemen,  let  me  present  to  you 


268  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Admiral  Osbon  of  the  late  Mexican  Navy.  If  you  and 
the  world  at  large  knew  what  we  know,  you  would 
know  more  than  we  are  willing  to  tell.  If  the  move- 
ment inaugurated,  in  which  we  took  part,  had  been 
consummated,  our  names  would  have  gone  ringing 
down  the  ages.”  Aboqt  a year  ago  I wrote  to  General 
Wallace  concerning  the  matter,  but  he  was  too  ill  to 
reply,  and  never  recovered.  Perhaps  in  the  autobiog- 
raphy which  he  has  left  behind  he  will  clear  up  the 
story. 

At  all  events,  those  of  us  who  were  obeying  orders 
were  kept  a good  deal  in  the  fog.  General  Sedgwick, 
who  commanded  the  Department  of  the  Rio  Grande, 
and  Colonel  Alonzo  F.  Randall,  of  the  First  Light 
Artillery  at  Brownsville,  were  no  wiser  than  myself. 
They  received  curious,  and  sometimes  contradictory, 
orders  emanating  from  unknown  sources  and  not  al- 
ways easy  to  fulfil.  For  my  own  part,  I cruised  up 
and  down  the  river  without  much  to  do,  keeping 
mostly  to  the  American  bank,  as  revolutions  were  still 
in  progress  in  Tamaulipas,  the  sound  of  musketry  in 
Matamoras  being  an  everyday  occurrence.  If  I re- 
member rightly  there  were  no  less  than  nine  governors 
in  that  city  in  the  space  of  a few  months.  I used  to 
ask  the  sentinel  at  my  door,  “ Well,  orderly,  who  is 
governor  this  morning?”  And  sometimes  he  would 
answer : “ I think  there  has  been  no  change  over  night. 
I have  heard  no  firing.” 


XLIII 

The  Mexican  Navy  Distinguishes  Itself 

CURIOUS  incidents  followed  one  upon  another, 
interesting  enough  at  the  time,  even  exciting, 
but  often  without  definite  purpose  and  seldom 
with  tangible  result.  At  one  time  I received  orders 
from  General  Carvajal  to  go  down  the  river  to  take 
on  board  a hundred  sharpshooters,  consigned  to  me 
from  New  Orleans,  evidently  with  the  consent  of 
United  States  military  authority,  yet  upon  reaching  the 
designated  point  I was  obliged  to  receive  them  under 
cover  of  my  guns,  owing  to  the  fierce  opposition  of 
United  States  Customs  officials.  At  another  time  I 
awoke  one  morning  to  find  a pontoon  bridge  stretched 
across  the  river  from  Brownsville  to  Matamoras,  mak- 
ing a military  connection  from  the  American  to  the 
Mexican  side.  Later  in  the  day,  General  Cortina,  com- 
mander of  the  Revolutionary  forces,  then  in  control  in 
Matamoras,  sent  word  that  unless  the  bridge  was  re- 
moved he  would  open  fire  on  Brownsville. 

General  Sedgwick,  who  understood  no  more  than 
I why  he  had  been  ordered  to  make  the  pontoon  con- 
nection, deputised  me  to  wait  upon  Cortina,  which  I 
did.  Our  interview  opened  with  drawn  pistols  and 
closed  with  brandy  and  cigars,  in  true  Mexican  fash- 
ion. I returned  with  General  Cortina’s  ultimatum,  that 
unless  the  bridge  was  removed  the  firing  upon  Browns- 

269 


270  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

ville  would  open  next  day  at  noon.  Naturally,  we 
were  all  a bit  anxious  for  the  outcome  of  this  mys- 
terious incident,  which,  as  usual,  ended  with  nothing, 
for  at  precisely  fifteen  minutes  of  the  given  time  there 
came  from  somewhere  another  mysterious  order,  and 
a detachment  of  United  States  troops  marched  across 
the  pontoon  bridge,  cast  it  adrift  from  the  Mexican 
side  and  let  it  swing  down  parallel  with  the  American 
bank. 

At  still  another  time,  when  General  Canales  was 
in  Revolutionary  command,  word  came  across  that 
unless  my  vessel  was  removed  from  the  American 
bank  the  Matamoras  guns  would  open  on  her,  regard- 
less of  what  damage  might  be  done  to  Brownsville. 
After  considerable  discussion  with  the  United  States 
authorities,  I decided  to  disarm  my  vessel,  land  my 
guns  and  ammunition  and  leave  the  matter  for  Uncle 
Sam  to  decide.  It  was  just  at  this  time  that  General 
Sherman  and  a Mr.  Campbell,  who  had  been  sent  to 
Mexico  as  special  commissioners,  arrived  in  the  Sus- 
quehanna, off  Brazos  Santiago.  Learning  of  their  com- 
ing, I hurried  over  with  two  of  my  staff  and  four 
extra  horses,  to  welcome  them.  As  the  United  States 
authorities  at  Brownsville  had  no  conveyance  to  send 
but  an  ambulance,  it  was  natural  that  an  old  soldier 
like  Sherman  should  accept  my  horses  and  my 
escort. 

“ Damn  an  ambulance  when  you  can  get  a horse!  ” 
he  said,  and  we  discussed  my  difficulties  all  the  way 
over,  with  the  result  that  on  the  following  Sunday 
morning,  with  our  guns  and  ammunition  on  board, 
and  with  a brass  band  borrowed  for  the  occasion,  I 


The  Mexican  Navy  271 

hoisted  my  admiral’s  flag  once  more  on  the  Margarita 
Juarez,  assured  of  the  protection  of  the  military  of 
the  United  States.  It  will  be  seen  from  these  inci- 
dents, unimportant  as  they  appear,  how  curious  was 
the  naval  and  military  situation  along  the  Rio  Grande 
during  the  final  days  of  the  so-called  Mexican  Em- 
pire. 

In  the  meantime  the  republican  cause  had  pros- 
pered greatly.  In  spite  of  excuses  and  delays  on  the 
part  of  Napoleon,  and  of  the  pleadings  of  the  Empress 
Carlotta,  who  besought  that  sovereign  on  her  knees, 
the  French  troops  were  retiring.  Already  they  had 
abandoned  northern  Mexico,  and  with  the  Maximilian 
empire  doomed,  Juarez  was  now  in  a position  to  give 
attention  to  the  Revolutionists  in  Tamaulipas.  About 
the  middle  of  November  (1866)  a report  reached  us 
that  a large  force  under  General  Escobedo  was  march- 
ing on  Matamoras  with  a view  of  putting  the  Liberal 
Government  in  control. 

In  due  time  he  arrived,  and  with  his  six  thousand 
men  went  into  camp  above  the  city.  Immediately  I 
went  over  to  pay  my  respects  to  him  and  to  offer  the 
services  of  the  Mexican  Navy  for  whatever  they 
might  be  worth.  He  thanked  me  pleasantly,  and  I sup- 
posed he  would  advise  me  when  he  was  ready  to  make 
the  attack,  so  that  I might  get  into  a position  to  flank 
the  forts  with  my  fire. 

He  did  not  do  so,  and  one  morning  about  two 
o’clock  I was  aroused  by  a terrible  cannonading,  and 
knew  that  General  Escobedo  had  begun  the  assault. 
Without  concerted  arrangement,  I did  not  feel  justi- 
fied in  attempting  to  use  my  guns  or  to  land  my  forces, 


2 72  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

for  I had  no  knowledge  of  his  plans.  I therefore  be- 
came merely  a spectator,  or  listener,  to  the  clash  of 
arms.  Then  all  at  once  it  ceased.  I expected  to  hear 
shouts  of  triumph  as  Escobedo’s  troops  entered  the 
streets  of  Matamoras,  but  there  came  no  sound  except 
of  cheering  along  the  lines  of  fortification.  I saddled 
a horse  and  going  ashore  rode  to  Escobedo’s  camp, 
where  troops  were  pouring  in  pellmell,  in  wild  dis- 
order. 

I found  the  general,  and  presenting  my  compliments 
asked  him  why  he  did  not  notify  me  of  the  coming 
attack  and  allow  me  to  render  such  assistance  as  I 
could. 

He  was  in  deep  distress  at  his  defeat,  declaring 
that  his  engineers  had  misled  him  as  to  the  works, 
that,  among  other  things,  they  had  built  sixteen-foot 
scaling  ladders  for  a moat  twenty-two  feet  wide.  The 
Revolutionists  had  allowed  his  troops  to  get  within 
short  range,  and  then  mowed  down  six  hundred  of 
them  in  ten  minutes.  The  repulse  had  been  sudden 
and  complete. 

I now  resolved  to  take  Matamoras  without  the  as- 
sistance of  General  Escobedo.  I came  back  to  the  ves- 
sel and  announced  to  my  officers  and  men  that,  as  we 
were  unable  to  get  our  pay,  and  had  hard  work  even 
to  get  rations — all  of  which  was  true  enough,  Heaven 
knows — I had  resolved  to  turn  the  vessel  for  a time 
into  a merchantman,  to  earn  some  money.  They  seemed 
well  disposed  toward  this  idea,  and  to  give  it  official 
colour  I announced  next  day  in  the  Brownsville  Ran- 
chero  that  the  Margarita  Juarez  had  been  transferred 
to  the  merchant  marine  and  would  accept  passengers 


The  Mexican  Navy  273 

and  freight  for  up-river  points.  We  also  landed  our 
guns  and  my  forces  went  into  camp. 

Of  course  I apprised  General  Carvajal  of  my  plan, 
and  with  his  assistance  had  dummy  freight  especially 
prepared  for  the  trip.  This  in  due  season  came  aboard, 
and  there  was  also  a small  amount  of  genuine  freight, 
while  a few  passengers  engaged  staterooms.  When  all 
was  ready  at  last,  the  men  were  taken  into  our  confi- 
dence, and  on  the  last  night  the  guns  were  once  more 
quietly  taken  aboard,  and  concealed  behind  the  dummy 
freight. 

We  were  advertised  to  sail  at  ten  o’clock  next  morn- 
ing, but  when  our  passengers  came  down  we  put  them 
off  with  an  excuse  that  we  would  not  leave  that  day, 
and  did  not  let  them  aboard.  They  must  have  been 
surprised  when  at  eleven  o’clock  we  cast  off  and 
steamed  up  the  river,  to  all  appearances  a peaceful 
merchantman,  loaded  and  bound  up  stream.  Certainly 
this  is  what  we  appeared  to  the  Revolutionists  on  the 
Matamoras  side,  and  this  was  the  impression  we  had 
laboured  to  create.  We  had  further  arranged  with 
one  Colonel  Ford,  an  American  in  command  of  a 
Liberal  battery  on  the  Mexican  shore — his  position 
in  the  Army  being  an  anomalous  one,  similar  to  that 
of  mine  in  the  Navy — to  act  in  conjunction  with  us; 
and  when  we  were  just  coming  abreast  of  the  Revolu- 
tionist fortifications,  over  went  our  dummy  freight, 
the  men  appeared  at  the  guns,  and  simultaneously  with 
Ford  we  let  go,  giving  the  Revolutionists  a complete 
% surprise,  tumbling  them  out  of  their  forts  one  after 
another,  taking  them  seriatim  until  we  had  the  entire 
eight.  It  was  really  great  sport.  The  Revolutionists 


274  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

were  enfiladed  by  a fire  which  made  their  position  un- 
tenable, and  they  ran  like  rats,  hardly  pausing  to  re- 
turn our  fire.  In  just  an  hour  and  forty  minutes  Mata- 
moras  was  ours,  and  General  Escobedo  and  his  army 
marched  in  in  great  triumph.  As  for  the  Mexican 
Navy,  it  modestly  went  back  and  tied  itself  to  the 
American  bank.  It  had  distinguished  itself  at  last.  It 
was  willing  that  the  Army  should  do  the  shouting. 


XLIV 

An  Exciting  New  Year’s  Eve 

THE  war  in  Mexico  was  one  of  vengeance  and 
reprisal.  From  the  beginning,  both  sides  had 
pursued  guerrilla  tactics,  with  campaigns  of 
massacre  and  rapine.  The  “ Black  Decree  ” — forced 
by  his  ministers  upon  Maximilian — an  edict  by  which 
everyone  bearing  arms  against  the  empire  became 
liable  to  the  death  penalty,  and  the  enforcement  of  this 
infamous  proscription,  resulted  in  deeds  and  measures 
unknown  to  any  civilised  code  of  arms.  Even  where 
hostilities  had  ended,  the  flow  of  blood  went  on.  De- 
tails of  riflemen  were  kept  busy,  filling  graves. 

At  Matamoras,  it  is  true,  a large  number  of  the 
Revolutionists  came  over  to  the  National  army  and 
were  forgiven;  but  there  were  many  who  were  rene- 
gades by  nature  and  petty  criminals  by  choice.  These, 
if  captured,  were  given  short  shrift.  General  Bereo- 
sabel,  who  with  Escobedo’s  occupation  became  Gov- 
ernor of  Tamaulipas,  was  a fine  gentleman  with  an 
English  education,  but  his  knowledge  of  the  law  related 
chiefly  to  its  execution — the  latter  usually  attended 
with  results  fatal  to  the  offender.  With  the  Mexican 
Navy  now  tied  up  to  the  Mexican  bank,  I could  observe 
these  conditions  at  close  range,  and  every  morning  the 
the  sound  of  musketry  volleys  brought  the  tidings  that 
another  detachment  of  prisoners  had  paid  the  extreme 
penalty  of  error. 

275 


i 


276  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

“ General,”  I said,  one  day,  “ if  you  keep  on  shoot- 
ing these  fellows,  we  shall  presently  have  ten  women 
to  every  man  in  this  end  of  Mexico.  Instead  of  killing 
these  poor  devils,  why  don’t  you  set  them  to  work  ? ” 

“ What  can  I do  with  them  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Well,”  I replied,  “ the  streets  of  Matamoras  are 
in  wretched  condition.  Let  them  lay  paving  stone. 
There’s  plenty  of  it  up  the  river.  Give  me  a lot  of  these 
fellows,  and  I will  set  them  to  getting  out  the  ma- 
terial ; I will  bring  it  down  on  the  vessel, — the  Mexican 
Navy  isn’t  very  busy  just  now.” 

General  Bereosabel  approved  of  the  idea,  and  before 
long  I had  a supply  of  recruits,  all  willing  to  get  out 
stone  for  any  number  of  days  in  preference  to  looking 
once  into  a musket  barrel  at  sunrise.  Of  course  I kept 
armed  and  alert  for  possible  outbreaks.  I wish  I had 
been  equally  thoughtful  during  my  next  undertaking. 

I had  made  two  trips  as  a stone  droger,  when  I was 
ordered  by  the  Governor  to  go  up  the  river  with  a 
load  of  rifles  and  ammunition  (doubtless  a consign- 
ment from  Sheridan)  and  a considerable  amount  of 
specie.  I was  also  to  have  three  passengers — the  Gov- 
ernor’s niece,  who  was  to  visit  some  friends  up  the 
river,  and  two  troublesome  Revolutionary  generals, 
who  were  to  be  delivered  to  the  military  at  a given 
point,  from  which  they  would  be  conducted  to  some 
unknown  destination.  The  generals  I was  to  supply 
with  rations,  allowing  them  to  find  quarters  where  they 
could.  General  Bereosabel’s  niece — a spirited  young 
lady,  as  events  proved— was  assigned  the  best  state- 
room in  the  vessel,  the  one  adjoining  my  own,  with 
doors  opening  both  to  the  main  cabin  and  the  deck, 


An  Exciting  New  Year’s  Eve  277 

as  is  the  case  with  all  river  steamers.  My  reasons 
for  being  thus  explicit  will  develop  later. 

The  chief  feature  of  my  expedition,  however,  as  it 
turned  out,  was  a company  of  eighty  casadores  or  light 
infantrymen — converted  Revolutionists  for  the  most 
part — which  General  Bereosabel  detailed  to  accom- 
pany me,  as  a guard  for  the  treasure.  Perhaps  he 
thought  my  crew  incompetent  for  this  duty.  Perhaps 
he  was  afraid  I would  vanish  with  both  his  niece  and 
the  specie.  At  all  events,  the  company  of  armed  in- 
fantry came  aboard,  while  my  own  men,  being  more 
or  less  off  duty,  stored  their  arms  and  made  themselves 
comfortable  in  the  after  part  of  the  lower  main  deck. 
Of  course  we  were  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  casa- 
dores, and  with  two  Revolutionist  generals  aboard — 
one  of  them  Hernandez,  a notorious  agitator — it  seems 
strange  to  me  now  that  no  possibility  of  trouble  en- 
tered my  mind.  At  all  events,  it  did  not,  and  we  de- 
voted our  ingenuities  chiefly  to  keeping  warm,  for  it 
was  the  last  day  of  the  year,  and  very  cold  for  the 
climate. 

It  seldom  snows  on  the  Rio  Grande,  but  it  snowed 
that  day,  and  a stiff  norther  was  blowing  that  chilled 
us  through.  All  sorts  of  provision  were  made  for  Gen- 
eral Bereosabel’s  niece,  while  as  many  as  could  gath- 
ered about  an  improvised  stove  in  the  forward  end  of 
the  cabin.  When  night  fell,  it  was  snowing  quite  hard, 
and  I tied  up  to  the  American  bank,  as  I considered 
navigation  dangerous  in  that  narrow,  crooked  river. 

After  the  evening  meal  was  over  I sat  down  with 
several  of  the  officers  around  the  little  stove  forward 
for  a social  chat.  I had  on  my  slippers,  and  for  the 


278  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

only  time  during  my  stay  in  Mexico  I did  not  wear  a 
brace  of  revolvers  at  my  waist. 

The  New  Year’s  Eve  slipped  away  pleasantly,  and 
I remember  that  we  were  discussing  life  in  the  tropics 
when  the  steward  came  in  and  informed  Captain  Jack- 
way that  General  Hernandez,  who  had  retired,  had 
taken  the  blankets  out  of  two  other  rooms  into  his 
own,  and  refused  to  deliver  them  to  their  respective 
owners. 

I was  naturally  irritated  at  this  report.  My  orders 
had  been  to  supply  my  officer  prisoners  with  nothing 
but  food,  and  I had  already  allowed  them  good  quar- 
ters and  as  much  in  the  way  of  comfort  as  was  possi- 
ble. I now  left  my  chair,  and  going  to  Hernandez,  ex- 
plained to  him  in  pretty  forcible  Spanish,  of  which  I 
had  a very  good  command,  that  he  had  no  right  to 
enter  any  room  but  his  own,  and  that  he  must  sur- 
render the  appropriated  blankets  forthwith.  He  glared 
at  me  fiercely  for  a second,  then  suddenly  whipping  out 
a revolver,  stuck  it  within  three  inches  of  my  face  and 
pulled  the  trigger. 

Why  the  charge  failed  to  explode  I do  not  know.  I 
do  know  that  I grabbed  his  arm  with  my  left  hand, 
and  when  he  did  fire,  an  instant  later,  the  bullet  passed 
through  the  upper  deck.  By  this  time  I had  concluded 
that  it  was  to  be  my  life  or  his.  Holding  his  arm 
straight  and  extended  upward  with  my  left  hand  I 
struck  it  a heavy  blow  with  my  right  fist.  I think  I 
must  have  been  very  strong  in  those  days,  for  the  blow 
not  only  sent  his  pistol  flying  but  broke  the  upper  bone 
of  his  arm.  I did  not  realise  this  at  the  moment,  and 
grappled  with  him,  forcing  him  toward  the  glass  door, 


An  Exciting  New  Year’s  Eve  279 

intending  to  push  his  head  through  it,  and  so  have 
him  at  my  mercy. 

But  by  this  time  something  else  had  happened. 
What  had  been  the  original  plan  between  Hernandez 
and  the  casadores  I do  not  know,  but,  whatever  it  was, 
my  affair  with  the  archplotter  had  brought  it  to  a 
sudden  climax.  The  shot  fired  by  Hernandez  had  been 
a signal  for  the  seizing  of  our  armory,  my  men  had 
been  corralled  and  were  under  guard  below,  while 
Captain  Jackway  and  the  officers  about  the  stove  had 
been  surrounded  and  overpowered.  A number  of  the 
mutineers  were  now  upon  me,  clubbing  at  me  with 
their  muskets,  only  failing  to  strike  me  for  want  of 
room  to  get  action. 

I knew  immediately  what  was  up,  and  that,  unarmed 
as  I was,  my  only  hope  was  in  escape.  I heard  the 
order  given  to  shoot  me  down,  and  I made  a break, 
and  with  a bound  was  under  the  long  cabin  table, 
scampering  on  my  hands  and  knees  toward  my  state- 
room, the  soldiers  firing  wildly,  filling  the  cabin  with 
smoke,  which  became  the  means  of  my  getting  to  my 
room  unharmed.  Here  I hastily  bolted  the  door,  and 
had  buckled  on  my  pistols  to  go  out  and  face  them, 
when  suddenly  I felt  a hand  on  my  arm  and,  turning, 
found  General  Bereosabel’s  niece,  who  had  entered  by 
the  outside  door.  She  was  cooler  than  I,  and  better 
able  to  reason. 

“You  are  not  going  out  there,”  she  said;  “they 
will  kill  you.” 

I realised  that  this  was  a sound  opinion,  and  stepped 
back  through  the  outside  door  into  the  snow,  intend- 
ing to  go  over  the  side  of  the  vessel  and  make  my  way 


280  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

to  a United  States  military  station  not  many  miles  dis- 
tant. But  the  casadores  were  already  battering  at  the 
inner  door  and  would  be  upon  me  in  another  instant. 
My  wise-headed  little  companion  realised  this,  and 
without  a word  seized  me  firmly,  and  a second  later  I 
was  in  her  stateroom  with  both  doors  locked  and 
bolted,  while  the  casadores  were  now  eagerly  search- 
ing and  prodding  in  my  empty  apartment.  Then  a little 
later  they  were  at  the  senorita’s  door,  demanding 
admission. 

I have  heard  a good  deal  of  Spanish  in  my  life,  and 
a good  many  instructions  concerning  the  deference 
and  respect  due  to  a lady,  but  I have  never  heard  a 
finer  example  of  the  language  nor  a more  concise  les- 
son in  Spanish  etiquette  than  that  young  lady  delivered 
to  those  murderous  Greasers  through  the  door  of  her 
stateroom  that  cold  New  Year’s  Eve  on  the  Rio 
Grande.  She  ended  by  telling  them  that  I had  gone 
over  the  side  of  the  vessel,  at  which  statement  they 
hurried  out  on  deck,  and  in  the  dim  light  seeing  the 
half  obliterated  tracks  in  the  snow,  accepted  her  state- 
ment. Then,  after  barricading  my  men  in  the  after 
cabin  below,  they  moved  the  vessel  to  mid-stream, 
posted  a guard,  and  gathered  about  the  little  stove 
forward,  to  wait  for  morning. 

Through  the  door  and  partitions  we  could  hear  the 
orders,  and  knew  what  was  going  on.  By  and  by, 
when  all  got  still,  I suspected  that,  in  true  Mexican 
fashion,  most  of  the  enemy  had  gone  to  sleep.  By 
two  in  the  morning  it  was  perfectly  quiet,  and  I de- 
cided to  reconnoitre  the  situation.  My  companion  also 
realised  that  some  action  was  necessary,  and,  softly 


An  Exciting  New  Year’s  Eve  281 

opening  her  outside  door,  allowed  me  to  step  out  on 
the  deck.  I hardly  know  what  was  my  purpose.  Cer- 
tainly, swimming  ashore  on  such  a night  would  be  a 
last  resort.  Slipping  forward  and  peering  down  on  the 
lower  deck  I saw  that  the  guard  there,  like  the  others, 
had  gone  to  sleep.  It  consisted  of  three  men  by  the 
brass  pivot  gun,  which  had  been  turned  to  cover  the 
cabin,  the  plan  having  been  to  blow  us  all  into  eter- 
nity as  we  sat  around  the  stove.  One  of  the  guards  lay 
across  the  gun,  the  other  two  being  huddled  under  the 
bulwarks. 

In  my  slippers,  through  the  snow,  I crawled  along 
with  a revolver  in  my  left  hand  until  I reached  the 
first  man  under  the  bulwarks,  and  with  a single  blow 
from  his  own  musket  eliminated  one  factor  of  my 
problem.  A well-directed  and  energetic  kick  in  a care- 
fully selected  spot  disposed  of  the  gentleman  at  his 
side,  and  as  this  roused  the  man  across  the  gun  it  was 
necessary  to  shoot  him,  which  of  course  instantly 
awoke  the  group  sleeping  about  the  cabin  stove,  caus- 
ing them  to  jump  up  and  throw  open  the  doors  to  see 
what  was  going  on. 

But  by  this  time  I was  ready  for  them.  The  brass 
gun  covered  them  completely,  and  in  the  fiercest  and 
most  ferocious  Spanish  I could  command  I swore  that 
if  one  of  them  lifted  a hand  I would  blow  the  whole  lot 
to  Hades.  I could  have  done  it,  too,  for  the  gun  was 
heavily  loaded  with  grape,  and  to  have  pulled  the  fric- 
tion primer  lanyard  would  have  slaughtered  that 
crowd  almost  to  a man. 

I can’t  begin  to  describe  the  foolish,  helpless  looks 
of  those  fellows.  They  were  armed;  but  they  knew  I 


282  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

was  desperate,  and  that  the  movement  of  a weapon 
would  bring  death  upon  them  all.  Perhaps  the  reader 
will  faintly  realise  the  tension  I was  under  during  the 
moment  of  silence  they  stood  looking  at  me.  Then 
they  begged  for  mercy. 

“ Drop  your  guns,”  I called,  “ every  one  of  you ! 
Come  down  one  at  a time,  unarmed.  If  I see  a sus- 
picious move  I will  fire.” 

They  obeyed  like  Sunday-school  boys,  and  I or- 
dered Hernandez  and  his  companion  in  arms,  who  had 
now  appeared,  to  see  that  my  men  were  released,  which 
they  did. 

Then  the  reaction  took  place,  and  I wanted  to  sit 
down  quietly  with  somebody  about  like  General  Bereo- 
sabel’s  niece  to  help  me  think  it  over.  We  celebrated, 
too,  for  our  steward  came  running  with  a bottle  of 
wine  and  some  hot  tamales — an  early  New  Year’s 
feast  on  the  Rio  Grande. 

I suppose,  to  make  the. story  complete,  it  ought  to 
end  with  a romance  in  which  we  should  play  the  chief 
parts.  My  recollection  is  that  neither  of  us  thought 
of  anything  of  the  sort.  She  was  simply  one  of  the 
courageous  girls  of  those  troublous  times,  a worthy 
scion  of  a noble  race,  who  gave  a hand  to  a sailor  of 
fortune  at  an  opportune  moment.  It  was  my  honour 
and  pleasure  to  land  her  safely  at  her  destination,  and 
I have  never  seen  her  since  she  bade  me  good-bye  that 
day,  now  almost  forty  years  ago. 

As  for  the  generals  and  the  casadores — well,  as  I 
said  in  the  beginning  of  this  chapter,  General  Bereo- 
sabel’s  idea  of  law  related  chiefly  to  its  execution. 

Meantime,  we  had  great  difficulties  in  getting  our 


An  Exciting  New  Year’s  Eve  283 

pay  from  the  Mexican  treasury.  General  Bereosabel 
issued  orders  for  our  money,  but  we  had  to  resort  to 
various  devices  to  get  the  cash.  Finally,  when  there 
were  several  thousand  dollars  due  me,  with  no  present 
prospect  of  collection,  and  as  there  was  little  or  no 
further  use  for  my  services,  that  I could  see,  I made 
up  my  mind  to  resign,  a decision  that  was  somewhat 
hastened  by  the  discovery  that  there  were  no  less  than 
eighty  native  applicants  for  my  position.  It  seemed 
quite  certain  that  if  there  were  eighty  Mexicans  who 
wanted  to  command  the  Mexican  Navy,  my  resigna- 
tion was  likely  to  take  the  form  of  a funeral  service, 
unless  I got  it  in  early,  in  the  usual  way.  Eighty  to 
one  was  an  odds  too  heavy  even  for  an  admiral,  and 
my  resignation  went  in,  despite  General  Bereosabel’s 
protest. 

It  was  now  late  spring,  and  the  conflict  in  lower 
Mexico  was  nearly  over.  By  the  middle  of  March  the 
last  of  the  French  troops  had  departed,  and  Maxi- 
milian, abandoned  to  his  fate,  was  doomed.  Many  of 
the  French  soldiers  had  agreed  to  remain  individually 
for  a certain  bounty,  but,  after  accepting  it,  deserted 
at  the  last  moment.  The  poor  monarch’s  fate  was  now 
sad  indeed.  Carlotta,  who  had  failed  in  her  efforts 
with  Napoleon  and  in  other  directions,  had  been  un- 
able to  stand  the  mental  strain,  and  was  wandering 
about  the  beautiful  castle  Miramar,  on  the  Adriatic, 
near  Trieste,  her  mind  full  of  disordered  fancies. 
About  Maximilian,  only  a hopelessly  small  force  of  his 
Mexican  supporters  gathered,  and  these,  as  one  defeat 
succeeded  another,  rapidly  melted  away. 

Yet  he  struggled  on.  Still  strong  in  his  purpose  of 


284  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

good — still  believing  that  upon  him  depended  the  sal- 
vation of  a disordered  Government — he  remained 
steadfast,  refusing  to  abdicate,  refusing  to  abandon  a 
people  who,  because  he  loved  them,  must  surely,  one 
day,  uphold  his  cause. 

Overwhelmed  at  last,  captured,  his  days  were  num- 
bered. It  was  at  Queretaro  that  he  made  his  last 
stand,  and  here,  as  always,  he  showed  the  hero’s  self- 
denial  and  courage,  foregoing  all  personal  comforts, 
ministering  to  the  sick  and  wounded,  refusing  at  last 
to  escape  when  it  became  known  that  the  day  was  lost. 

“ I do  not  hide  myself,”  he  said,  and  knowing  his 
beloved  Carlotta’s  hopeless  fate,  he  longed  only  for 
the  bullet  which  would  release  him  from  the  sorrow 
and  bitterness  of  it  all.* 

Rumours  of  the  fighting  and  the  victories  of  Juarez 
came  to  us  on  the  Rio  Grande,  and  we  knew  that  the 
end  was  near,  though  it  was  not  until  after  my  de- 
parture that  the  story  was  complete.  I went  over  to 
New  Orleans  after  my  resignation,  where  I was  pre- 
sented to  General  Sheridan  by  our  Mexican  Minister, 
Mr.  Campbell,  under  my  late  rank  and  title.  This 
closed  my  connection  with  the  Mexican  affair,  though, 
curiously  enough,  in  a civil  capacity  I was  to  perform 
a final  duty — to  add  the  final  touch,  as  it  were,  to  an 
episode  of  which  I had  seen  the  prelude  in  Havana 
Harbour  five  years  before. 

I had  been  in  New  Orleans  but  a week  when  I be- 
came boarding  officer  of  the  New  York  Associated 

*“Now  for  a lucky  bullet,  Salm ! ” was  Maximilian’s  cry  to 
his  loyal  friend,  Prince  Salm-Salm,  as  he  saw  the  white  flag 
go  up  near  him. 


An  Exciting  New  Year’s  Eve  285 

Press,  at  Southwest  Pass  (an  entrance  to  the  river 
below  New  Orleans).  It  was  my  duty  to  board  all 
vessels  for  news  of  any  sort. 

On  the  morning  of  June  29th,  1867,  very  soon  after 
my  arrival,  I looked  out  over  the  bar  and  saw,  lying 
outside,  an  Austrian  man-o’-war,  her  colours  at  half- 
mast  and  bordered  with  black.  There  was  no  telegraph 
connection  with  Mexico  in  those  days.  I knew  in- 
stantly that  she  had  brought  news,  and  I could  guess 
well  enough  what  it  was.  When  I boarded  the  vessel, 
which  I did  without  delay,  the  captain  gravely  took 
me  into  his  cabin  and  told  me  that  he  had  a communi- 
cation which,  as  representative  of  the  Associated  Press, 
I would  be  permitted  to  make  public;  but  that  I must 
pledge  myself  not  to  allow  it  to  appear  in  print  until 
it  had  reached  the  Austrian  and  French  ministers  at 
Washington.  He  then  told  me  how  on  the  morning 
of  the  19th  of  June,  at  Queretaro,  on  the  “ Hill  of 
Bells,”  where  they  had  met  defeat,  Maximilian  and  his 
two  generals,  Miramon  and  Meji,  had  faced  a file  of 
soldiers,  and  so  made  the  supreme  expiation.  Maxi- 
milian had  died  as  he  had  lived — brave  of  heart  and 
gentle  of  spirit — forgiving  those  whose  duty  it  was  to 
take  his  life — refusing  at  the  last  the  bandage  for 
his  eyes.* 

* In  his  last  hours  Maximilian  wrote  a noble  letter  to  Juarez, 
whose  spirit  he  admired,  and  a tender  message  to  the  poor  de- 
mented soul  who  was  watching  for  his  coming  at  Miramar.  The 
letter  to  Carlotta  was  as  follows: 

My  Beloved  Carlotta: 

If  God  permits  that  your  health  be  restored,  and  you  should 
read  these  few  lines,  you  will  learn  the  cruelty  with  which  fate 


286  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

We  computed  the  cable  tolls,  for  I was  also  to  for- 
ward the  message  direct  to  Paris  and  Vienna,  and  he 
paid  me  the  amount  in  gold.  Returning  to  my  head- 
quarters, I opened  the  wire  to  New  Orleans,  called  Mr. 
Mingle,  then  manager  of  the  telegraph  department, 
and,  having  obtained  his  assurance  that  the  news 
would  be  kept  sacred  until  it  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
legations  at  Washington,  I forwarded  the  story,  which 
he  received  in  person. 

For  nearly  twenty-four  hours  the  public  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  matter.  Then,  if  I remember  rightly,  the 
announcement  of  the  death  of  Maximilian  was  made 
simultaneously  in  Europe  and  the  United  States.*  I 
had  seen  the  beginning  of  an  international  tragedy. 
I had  received  the  news  of  its  end. 

has  stricken  me  since  your  departure  for  Europe.  You  took  with 
you,  not  only  my  heart,  but  my  good  fortune.  Why  did  I not 
give  heed  to  your  voice?  So  many  untoward  events!  Alas,  so 
many  sudden  blows  have  stricken  my  hopes;  so  that  death  is 
but  a happy  deliverance,  not  an  agony  to  me.  I shall  die  glo- 
riously, like  a soldier,  like  a monarch,  vanquished,  but  not  dis- 
honoured. If  your  sufferings  are  too  great,  and  God  shall  call 
you  to  join  me,  I shall  bless  His  divine  hand  which  has  weighed 
so  heavily  upon  us.  Adieu,  adieu. 

Your  poor 

Maximilian. 

It  is  probable  that  Carlotta  never  comprehended  this  letter. 

“ He  is  dead — they  will  kill  him — I know  the  Mexicans,”  she 
is  said  to  have  declared  in  a semi-lucid  interval.  Yet  she  never 
ceased  to  believe  him  living,  and  to  this  day,  still  alive  herself, 
cared  for  now  in  her  own  native  Belgium,  she  is  watching  for 
his  return. 

* The  first  brief  announcement  of  Maximilian’s  death  was 
made  by  the  press  June  30th,  1867. 


XLV 


I Attend  the  Havre  Exposition,  and 
Welcome  Mrs.  Farragut 

I REMAINED  about  one  year  at  Southwest  Pass, 
during  which  time,  besides  being  the  official  news 
gatherer,  I held  the  positions  of  deputy  United 
States  marshal,  commodore  of  the  New  Orleans  tow- 
boat fleet,  and  doctor  of  medicine  of  the  port.  My  ex- 
perience as  a sea  captain  fitted  me  for  the  last  named 
post,  for  I had  dealt  with  almost  every  known  dis- 
ease in  every  known  climate,  and  I believe  I had  some 
natural  faculty  for  the  business. 

At  Southwest  Pass  I had  at  one  time  fifty-two  cases 
of  yellow  fever.  And  of  these  I did  not  lose  one,  which 
I think  is  a pretty  good  record. 

Curious  things  happened  at  that  strange  half-water, 
half-mud  place  which  sticks  out  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
like  a fishing  pole,  but  I have  not  the  space  to  set  them 
down  here.  One  storm  still  gathers  in  my  mind,  out 
of  the  many  terrible  semi-tropic  gales  of  that  locality 
— a storm  presaged  only  by  some  strange  subcompre- 
hension which  makes  the  pelican  fly  low  and  disturbs 
the  fish,  but  is  not  revealed  by  the  barometer.  All  the 
morning  I had  watched  them — the  birds  skimming  the 
surface  of  the  water  and  the  fish  shooting  about  in 
that  unusual  way,  feeling  an  inward  something  of  my 
own  that  foretold  disaster.  I was  so  sure  by  ten 

287 


288  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

o’clock  that  a gale  was  coming,  though  there  was  not 
a single  tangible  sign,  that  I hoisted  the  signal,  “ Pre- 
pare for  a Hurricane.” 

There  were  a number  of  vessels  anchored  in  the 
river,  waiting  to  be  towed  to  New  Orleans,  and  their 
captains  came  or  sent  ashore  to  know  why  I had 
hoisted  the  signal.  When  I explained,  they  laughed; 
but  I kept  the  signal  flying.  The  pilots  laughed,  too; 
but  I did  not  haul  down  the  flags. 

Then  the  captain  of  a little  bark  and  his  mate — both 
had  their  families  aboard — came  to  ask  why  I ex- 
pected a gale.  I told  them  as  best  I could  how  the  peli- 
cans were  flying  low  and  the  fish  were  disturbed,  and 
how  the  alligators  had  gone  into  holes.  I advised  him 
to  put  his  vessel  into  the  bank  across  the  river,  well 
anchored  and  stripped  for  a hurricane.  Those  men  did 
not  laugh.  They  had  their  wives  and  children  aboard 
and  were  taking  no  chances.  They  followed  my  in- 
structions to  the  letter;  and  at  two  o’clock  that  night 
there  was  blowing  one  of  the  wildest  hurricanes  I have 
ever  known.  The  river  rose  until  I was  obliged  to  pass 
a couple  of  hawsers  over  my  house  and  lash  it  to  the 
piling,  and  to  cut  holes  through  the  floor  to  let  in  the 
water  for  ballast,  to  keep  from  drifting  away.  A pilot 
boat  was  swept  by  and  went  high  and  dry  on  the 
marsh.  The  vessels  waiting  to  be  towed  to  New  Or- 
leans were  driven  about  and  scattered  like  ships  of 
straw.  One  of  our  towboats  was  there,  and  I ordered 
her  sunk  to  her  main  deck  to  keep  her  off  the  marsh. 
Next  morning,  she  and  the  little  bark  anchored  on  the 
left  bank  were  the  only  vessels  not  driven  ashore  and 
damaged.  Our  wrecking  tugs  pulled  thirteen  of  them 


The  Havre  Exposition  289 

off;  and  I do  not  believe  there  was  a captain  in  that 
fleet  that  ever  disregarded  from  that  day,  no  matter 
what  the  barometer  might  indicate,  the  more  mys- 
terious warnings  of  the  wise  pelicans,  the  alligators, 
and  the  fish. 

I left  Southwest  Pass  for  a voyage  to  Europe,  for 
I was  suffering  from  my  old  unlucky  knee  and  I was 
told  that  an  ocean  voyage  would  benefit  me.  I was  also 
going  for  another  reason,  for  in  the  course  of  my  many 
travels  I had  met  one  Eliza  Balfour — a young  lady  of 
Scotch  descent — of  the  Balfours  of  Burleigh,  and  we 
were  to  meet  and  be  married  on  the  other  side. 
Our  wedding  took  place  at  Liverpool,  and  after  a 
brief  time  we  crossed  over  to  Havre  to  attend  the 
Maritime  Exposition,  the  first  of  the  kind  ever  held 
in  Europe. 

Before  leaving  America  I had  made  arrangements 
with  the  New  York  Times,  the  Philadelphia  Inquirer, 
and  papers  in  each  of  the  other  chief  cities  of  the  United 
States  for  foreign  correspondence,  and  on  the  other 
side  the  London  Times,  the  Manchester  Guardian , 
the  Liverpool  Post,  and  Mercury  engaged  articles  on 
the  Maritime  show.  It  was  not  customary  in  those 
days  to  syndicate  descriptive  matter,  so  that  each  of 
my  letters  had  to  be  separately  written  and  differently 
constructed.  Yet  I did  not  find  this  a difficult  under- 
taking, once  I got  going.  There  was  a vast  deal  to 
see,  all  the  time,  and  no  one  letter,  or  ten,  could  cover 
it  all.  The  London  Times  presently  invited  me  to  send 
a letter  as  often  as  circumstances  would  warrant,  and 
the  pay  was  most  liberal  for  those  days.  Being  the  only 
American  newspaper  man  in  Havre  I was  treated  with 


290  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

great  courtesy,  and  unusual  facilities  were  accorded 
me  for  getting  interesting  facts. 

Near  my  headquarters  in  the  Exposition  was  the 
working  model  of  a pneumatic  telegraph  apparatus 
which  interested  me  very  much..  In  time  I familiarised 
myself  with  the  details  of  its  method,  and  frequently 
explained  it  to  visitors  who  happened  along. 

One  day  a tall,  gaunt,  grey-eyed  Englishman  over- 
heard a part  of  one  of  my  impromptu  lectures,  and 
presently,  when  we  were  alone,  asked  me  if  I would 
explain  the  principles  of  the  pneumatic  telegraph  to 
him.  His  interest  and  manner  appealed  to  me  and  I did 
my  best.  He  listened  with  great  attention,  asking 
many  questions.  When  I had  finished,  he  said: 

“ My  name  is  Weir.  I am  the  president  of  the  com- 
pany that  owns  this  machine.  It  is,  as  you  say,  par- 
ticularly adapted  to  the  needs  of  naval  vessels.  If  you 
care  to  handle  it  for  us  at  this  Exposition,  and  will 
undertake  to  introduce  it  into  the  French  Navy,  I will 
give  you  a one-fifth  interest  in  the  patents,  and  allow 
you  six  pounds  sterling  per  week  for  expenses.” 

I clinched  the  bargain  at  once,  and  with  the  income 
from  my  news  correspondence  I now  had  what  was 
then  considered  a very  excellent  provision  for  life  on 
the  Continent. 

In  fact,  I may  say  that  fortune  seemed  to  smile  about 
this  time.  Admiral  and  Mrs.  Farragut  were  that  year 
making  a tour  abroad  and  were  everywhere  received 
with  great  honours.  If  I remember  rightly,  the  ad- 
miral was  in  poor  health,  and  was  unable  to  attend 
the  Exposition;  but  Mrs.  Farragut  came  up  from  the 
Mediterranean  on  the  sloop  of  war  Canandaigua,  and 


The  Havre  Exposition  29 1 

was  welcomed  with  great  ceremony.  Rest  assured,  I 
was  on  hand  when  the  ship  was  announced,  and  re- 
ceived a most  cordial  greeting  from  the  wife  of  my 
old  commander.  Indeed,  the  gentle  and  noble  old  lady 
had  always  been  like  a mother  to  me  after  the  New 
Orleans  episode,  and  I remember  once,  when  I went 
to  call  on  the  admiral  in  his  home,  after  the  war  was 
ended,  how  she  kissed  me  and  declared  I had  saved 
her  husband’s  life. 

At  the  Havre  Exposition  it  was  the  same.  A day 
was  fixed  for  her  visit,  and  it  was  arranged  that  I 
should  call  for  her  and  conduct  her  through  the  show. 
She  was  received  in  state  by  the  mayor  and  civic  of- 
ficials, and  when  we  made  the  rounds  she  kept  my  arm 
throughout,  everywhere  making  known  the  fact  that  I 
had  been  her  husband’s  signal  officer  at  New  Orleans, 
and  declaring  that  I had  saved  his  life.  I think  we 
were  the  centre  of  attention  at  the  Exposition  on  that 
day,  which  I still  recall  with  great  pride;  and  I shall 
always  revere  the  beautiful  nature  and  kind  heart  of 
the  noble  woman  who  made  that  day  possible. 

Of  course  an  event  of  this  sort  could  not  fail  to 
count  for  me  in  the  advancement  of  my  plans  concern- 
ing the  French  Navy.  I was  made  one  of  the  judges 
on  exhibits  pertaining  to  the  outfitting  of  ships  with 
labour-saving  appliances,  and  I did  not  fail  to  direct 
attention  to  the  pneumatic  telegraph,  in  which  I had 
a genuine  and  most  enthusiastic  faith.  It  was  near  the 
end  of  the  show,  when  one  day  a very  nice  old  gentle- 
man came  to  see  the  model,  and  when  I had  explained 
it  in  such  French  as  I could  command  he  said: 

“ Now,  sir,  if  you  will  please  tell  me  all  about  it  in 


292  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

English,  I think  I can  understand  it  much  better,” 
and  he  handed  me  his  card. 

I was  a bit  chagrined,  expecting  to  see  the  name  of 
an  Englishman  who  had  not  comprehended  a single 
word  I had  said.  I was  mistaken.  The  card  bore  the 
name  of  Admiral  Paris,  of  the  French  Navy,  one  of 
the  men  I most  desired  to  meet.  ,We  immediately  be- 
came good  friends,  and  I felt  that  I had  made  a long 
step  in  the  direction  of  business  success. 


XLVI 


I Have  Dealings  with  Napoleon  III. — A 
Remorseful  Emperor 

the  close  of  the  Exposition  at  Havre  I went 


to  Paris  and  began  a vigorous  campaign  with 


a view  of  establishing  the  pneumatic  tele- 
graph on  the  French  naval  marine.  Through  my 
new  friend,  the  admiral,  who  was  himself  preparing  a 
work  on  naval  architecture  and  appliances,  I made 
the  acquaintance  of  a number  of  influential  officers 
and  officials,  and  felt  that  I was  getting  along  swim- 
mingly. 

It  was  necessary,  however,  to  secure  the  imperial 
approval  before  a demonstration  could  be  given  of  the 
apparatus;  also,  of  course,  before  an  order  could  be 
obtained  from  the  French  Government.  Napoleon  III. 
was  not  an  easy  man  to  see  in  those  days,  and  even 
Admiral  Paris  did  not  care  to  suggest  that  he  would 
arrange  an  interview.  I secured  the  coveted  presenta- 
tion at  last  in  a peculiar  manner. 

From  the  beginning,  in  France,  I was  known  to 
have  been  in  Mexico,  in  the  service  of  the  Juarez  Gov- 
ernment, and  was  placed  on  the  list  of  suspects.  I think 
by  this  time  there  was  no  feeling  against  me  person- 
ally; but  it  was  natural  that  the  authorities  should 
wish  to  be  quite  certain  of  my  errand,  when  the  French 
and  Mexican  complications  had  been  so  recently  ad- 


294  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

justed,  and  when  there  was  still  so  much  resentment 
toward  the  French  emperor  on  account  of  his  connec- 
tion with  the  Maximilian  tragedy. 

I was  watched  continually,  my  letters  were  opened, 
even  the  servants  in  the  house  where  my  wife  and  I 
had  apartments  acted  as  spies.  Those  were  troublous 
times  in  France,  just  prior  to  the  Franco-German  war, 
and  everyone  of  whom  there  was  the  least  suspicion 
was  kept  under  close  surveillance. 

Of  my  followers,  one  of  the  most  persistent,  was  an 
Englishman.  Go  where  I would,  I could  see  his  face. 
At  the  Cafe  Royal  one  morning  he  planted  himself 
directly  in  front  of  me.  I felt  the  time  had  come  to 
speak. 

“ My  friend,”  I began,  “ will  you  join  me  at  break- 
fast ? I have  something  to  say  to  you.” 

He  looked  at  me  a moment  and  shifted  his  seat 
closer.  I said: 

“ You  have  favoured  me  with  your  company  so 
long,  I think  I ought  to  introduce  myself.  My  name 
is  Osbon,  as  you  know.  I live  in  the  Rue  de  la  Pepi- 
niere.  I am  here  on  business — to  sell,  if  possible,  to 
the  French  Government  a pneumatic  telegraph  sys- 
tem, owned  by  a company  in  London.  I have  served  in 
the  Mexican  Navy  as  its  senior  officer;  but  I am  no 
longer  connected  with  that  Government  and  have  no 
interest  in  its  movements.  I don’t  like  to  be  followed 
around  Paris  as  if  I were  a revolutionist  or  a regi- 
cide. You  have  a pleasant  sort  of  a face,  but  I see  it 
too  often.” 

“ My  dear  sir,”  he  said,  “ there  is  some  mistake.  It 
is  true  I have  seen  you  before,  but  I am  simply  an 


A Remorseful  Emperor  295 

English  gentleman,  formerly  a British  consul,  living 
quietly  in  Paris.” 

“ Well,”  I replied,  “ you  may  be  an  English  gen- 
tleman, and  you  may  have  been  a British  consul.  But 
you  are  at  this  moment  a French  spy — a mouchard.” 
He  looked  at  me  keenly  a moment,  then  he  said : 

“ Perhaps  I can  be  of  assistance  to  you.  How  would 
you  like  an  introduction  to  the  Emperor?” 

This  was  business,  and  I replied  promptly,  “ Noth- 
ing would  give  me  greater  pleasure.” 

“ Make  it  worth  my  while  and  I will  get  you  a per- 
sonal interview,”  was  his  next  remark. 

“ What  is  your  * while  ’ worth  ? ” I asked. 

“ For  five  hundred  dollars  I will  present  you  to  the 
Emperor,  and  you  can  show  him  the  apparatus.  You 
must  do  your  own  business  after  that.” 

When  we  left  the  breakfast  table  I had  agreed  to 
meet  him  at  the  office  of  the  Emperor’s  chamberlain 
on  the  following  Wednesday.  Without  delay  I hur- 
ried over  to  London,  told  Mr.  Weir  of  my  arrange- 
ment, a meeting  of  the  board  was  called  and  the  five 
hundred  dollars  voted  and  placed  in  my  hands. 

On  Wednesday  morning  promptly  at  eleven  o’clock 
I was  at  the  imperial  chamberlain’s  office,  to  find  my 
British  friend  there.  I showed  him  the  money  and 
told  him  that  when  I had  seen  the  Emperor  and  had 
my  interview  the  money  would  be  his.  Ten  minutes 
later  I was  in  the  presence  of  Napoleon  III. 

I know  now  that  the  Emperor  had  been  induced  to 
see  me  on  the  ground  that  I had  come  from  Mexico, 
and,  having  held  a commanding  position  with  the  op-  j 
posing  forces,  would  likely  be  able  to  communicate 


296  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

interesting  and  perhaps  valuable  information.  Na- 
poleon was  at  this  time  filled  with  remorse  at  the 
thought  of  having  sent  Maximilian  to  his  doom,  and  I 
saw  almost  immediately  that  he  was  hungry  for  every 
word  from  the  fallen  empire.  He  permitted  me  to 
show  him  a small  model  of  the  telegraph  machine,  and 
called  in  the  young  Prince  Imperial  to  look  at  it.  Then 
turning  to  me  anxiously  he  said, 

“ Mr.  Osbon,  you  have  been  in  Mexico.” 

I saw  how  eager  he  was  in  his  interest,  and  I told 
him  in  detail  the  story  of  my  going  to  Mexico,  and 
some  of  my  experiences  there.  He  was  most  minute 
in  his  questions,  but  I did  not  tell  him  all,  for  I 
wanted  another  interview.  In  reply  to  some  of  his 
inquiries  I said — and  it  was  true — “ I will  have  to 
consult  my  papers  before  I can  reply  to  your  satis- 
faction.” 

Promising  to  return  in  a few  days  with  further  in- 
formation, I left  his  presence,  joined  my  Englishman 
and  turned  over  the  stipulated  sum,  feeling,  as  one 
would  say  in  nautical  terms,  that  I had  both  anchors 
down  in  France. 

I called  alone,  after  that.  He  never  refused  to  see 
me,  and  we  always  talked  much  more  of  Mexico  than 
of  the  machine.  I found  I had  much  to  tell  that  inter- 
ested him — in  fact,  every  small  detail  of  those  final 
days  seemed  to  fascinate  him,  and  when  I told  him  of 
the  arrival  of  the  Austrian  vessel  at  Southwest  Pass 
draped  in  mourning,  he  seemed  to  hang  on  my  very 
words.  That  I had  chanced  to  be  the  one  to  receive 
and  forward  the  tragic  news  of  Maximilian’s  end  gave 
me  a peculiar  importance  in  his  eyes. 


A Remorseful  Emperor  29 7 

The  third  time  I called  I asked  him  to  give  me  a 
letter  to  the  Minister  of  Marine  requesting  that  a test 
of  the  pneumatic  telegraph  be  made  on  board  a French 
man-of-war.  He  assented  readily,  and  with  the  pre- 
cious missive  I sought  the  minister  and  was  introduced 
to  the  senior  officer  commanding  the  Mediterranean 
Fleet.  I was  not  long  in  obtaining  a requisition  to 
have  the  machine  fitted  up  on  the  Jeanne  d’Arc,  the 
flagship  of  the  squadron.  The  wedge  was  in  at  last, 
and  in  due  season  I was  notified  that  the  vessel  was 
ready  to  be  fitted  with  the  appliance. 

I now  sent  to  London,  brought  over  six  first-class 
men,  the  piping  and  the  machines,  and  went  down  to 
Cherbourg  to  install  them.  We  had  a royal  time,  for 
quarters  and  all  comforts  were  placed  at  our  disposal, 
and  when  the  machines  were  installed  we  went  on  a 
trial  trip  and  demonstrated  the  practicability  of  the 
apparatus. 

Yet  I was  by  no  means  through  with  the  Emperor. 
What  I wanted,  now,  was  the  Government  order,  and 
I had  many  interviews  with  the  French  sovereign, 
during  which,  though  he  was  chiefly  interested  in 
Mexico  and  I in  the  machine,  we  got  along  famously. 

One  day  I said  to  him,  “ I wish  I had  here  a trunk  I 
have  at  home.  It  contains  some  documents  which 
might  interest  you.” 

He  said,  “ Send  for  it  at  once.  Cable  for  it.  Sit 
down  here  and  write  a cable,  and  I will  see  that  it  is 
sent.  Who  has  this  trunk  ? ” 

“ My  father.” 

“ Very  well.  Tell  your  father  to  send  the  trunk  to 
the  office  of  the  Compagnie  Generate  Transatlantique, 


298  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

at  New  York.  The  company  will  be  instructed  to  for* 
ward  it  to  you  in  Paris.” 

The  longest  cable  I ever  wrote  went  to  my  father 
that  night,  and  in  due  season  the  trunk  arrived.  I was 
notified  by  wire  from  Havre,  and  when  I went  to  meet 
it  I found  it  guarded  by  an  official,  who  accompanied 
me  with  it  to  my  rooms,  even  insisting  that  it  be  placed 
inside  of  our  carriage. 

On  the  following  day  I took  some  of  the  documents 
over  to  show  to  Napoleon.  They  were  chiefly  official 
reports,  among  them  being,  I think,  certain  papers 
emanating  from  the  Mexican  emperor’s  headquarters, 
these  having  in  some  manner  fallen  into  our  hands. 
They  do  not  now  seem  to  me  to  have  been  of  any  spe- 
cial importance,  but  to  him  they  were  as  priceless 
treasures.  Whenever  I wanted  to  see  the  Emperor 
now,  the  door  was  always  open.  There  seemed  noth- 
ing that  he  was  not  ready  to  grant.  When  at  last  a 
favourable  report  came  from  the  committee  of  experts 
appointed  to  pass  on  the  machine,  and  I was  delayed 
only  by  the  official  appraisements  of  value,  I went  to 
the  Emperor  and  told  him  that  we  would  agree  upon 
a price  of  thirty  thousand  pounds,  and  the  matter  was 
settled  upon  that  basis.  When  there  came  another  de- 
lay, this  time  in  the  payment,  another  interview  with 
the  Emperor  resulted  in  our  receiving  one-half  the 
purchase  money,  forthwith.  So  you  see  it  is  an  ill  wind 
that  blows  nobody  good.  Poor  Maximilian’s  venture 
had  resulted  tragically  enough  for  him,  and  it  cast  a 
dark  shadow  over  Napoleon’s  latter  days.  But  with- 
out my  reminiscences  of  that  sombre  episode  it  is  quite 
certain  that  I should  have  found  but  a poor  welcome  at 


A Remorseful  Emperor  299 

the  French  Court.  I may  say  here  that  in  due  time  I 
received  my  fifth  interest  of  the  French  purchase,  and 
felt  fairly  well-to-do.  But  our  company  lost  heavily  by 
the  Franco-Prussian  war,  which  even  then  was  brew- 
ing, and  the  downfall  of  Napoleon  and  later  patents 
and  appliances  eventually  brought  our  business  to  an 
end. 

I will  close  this  chapter  with  a humorous  incident 
which  has  little  to  do  with  the  subject  as  a whole, 
yet  seems  worth  recalling. 

During  our  stay  in  Paris  the  Emperor  gave  a fete, 
and  both  Mrs.  Osbon  and  myself  were  anxious  to 
attend.  I knew  that  the  official  method  to  gain  ad- 
mission was  through  our  United  States  Minister,  at 
that  time  General  John  A.  Dix,  an  old  friend,  as  the 
reader  may  remember.  I went  up  to  the  Legation, 
therefore,  and  meeting  the  General’s  son  John,  told 
him  my  mission. 

“ Well,”  he  said,  “ you  should  have  made  your  ap- 
plication about  three  years  ago.  They  were  all  spoken 
for  nearly  that  far  ahead.  However,  you  might  see 
my  father.” 

I did  see  General  Dix,  and,  while  he  was  very  cor- 
dial, he  could  do  nothing,  for  he  had  no  more  tickets 
at  his  disposal. 

“Very  well,”  I thought,  “I  have  done  the  proper 
thing,  anyway ; now  I’ll  see  what  I can  do  on  my  own 
account.” 

So  I sauntered  around  to  the  Tuileries  and  told  the 
chamberlain  I should  like  to  attend  that  ball. 

“ Certainly.  Of  course,”  he  said,  “ I will  send  you 
the  tickets.” 


3°°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

The  tickets  came,  and  they  were  tickets,  sure 
enough.  The  outer  envelope  was  nearly  as  large  as  a 
fore-royal.  Within,  the  tickets  gradually  reduced  in 
size — each  card  being  for  some  special  permission,  un- 
til we  reached  one  that  admitted  to  the  royal  presence. 

On  the  night  of  the  event  we  were  on  hand  in  full 
regalia,  and  when  the  hour  came  for  presentation  we 
purposely  formed  at  the  end  of  the  American  column. 
As  each  person  faced  the  Emperor  and  Empress,  Gen- 
eral Dix  stood  ready  to  make  the  presentation.  When 
we  came  up,  at  last,  he  stared  at  us  as  much  as  to  say, 
“ How  in  the  name  of  heaven  did  you  get  here  ? ” 
Then,  just  as  he  was  about  to  speak,  the  Emperor  held 
out  his  hand. 

“ I know  Captain  Osbon  very  well,”  he  said ; and 
after  greeting  Mrs.  Osbon  we  passed  on. 

A day  or  two  later,  when  I dropped  into  the  Lega- 
tion, the  first  greeting  I received  was, 

“ Say,  Osbon,  how  did  you  manage  it?  Tell  us.” 

“ Oh,”  I said,  “ that  was  easy  enough.  Me  an’  the 
Emperor’s  chums ! ” 


XLYII 

Various  Enterprises,  and  Asphalt 

IN  1869  I was  once  more  in  New  York,  in  the 
employ  of  the  Old  Colony  Steamship  Company, 
then  owned  by  Fisk  and  Gould,  as  assistant  to 
the  managing  director.  Most  of  the  work  was  left 
to  me,  as  my  chief,  Mr.  M.  R.  Simons,  was  not  a prac- 
tical steamboat  man,  and  I began  at  once  to  harmonise 
and  discipline  the  crews  of  the  Bristol  and  Providence, 
the  crack  vessels  of  Long  Island  Sound.  The  Ply- 
mouth Rock,  another  vessel,  idle  at  the  time,  we  con- 
verted into  the  first  large  excursion  steamer  in  these 
waters.  The  management  of  her  excursions  fell  to  me, 
and  on  the  occasion  of  the  International  Yacht  Races 
we  carried  four  thousand  passengers,  bringing  every 
one  home  safely,  though  she  cracked  her  shaft  during 
the  trip. 

The  White  Star  Line  now  offered  me  a position  at 
what  was  considered  the  very  excellent  salary  of  sev- 
eral thousand  dollars  a year,  and  I remained  with  that 
company  until  1871,  when  I had  another  attack  of  the 
journalistic  fever — one  never  is  permanently  cured  of 
that  complaint — and  in  July  of  the  same  year,  on  a 
capital  of  four  hundred  dollars,  I established  the  Nau- 
tical Gazette,  an  eight-page  weekly  paper,  the  first 
maritime  journal  of  America. 

I had  a partner  at  first,  but  his  legs  were  overlong, 

301 


3 02  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

and  he  wrote  on  his  lap,  so  after  a few  months  we 
dissolved.  Perhaps  his  physical  characteristics  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  fortunes  of  the  paper,  but  I 
know  that  it  prospered  from  the  day  he  went  away.  In 
two  years  the  Nautical  Gazette  had  a paid  circulation 
of  seven  thousand  regular  subscribers  and  had  become 
a sixteen  page  paper.  Furthermore,  I had  been  elected 
secretary  of  the  National  Board  of  Steam  Navigation, 
a position  which  required  my  presence  in  Washington 
during  the  sessions  of  Congress,  where  I represented 
both  the  board  and  my  paper,  and  was  associated  inti- 
mately with  almost  everyone  of  importance  in  politi- 
cal life.. 

I could  make  a book  of  my  Washington  recollec- 
tions alone,  for  in  the  course  of  events  I was  brought 
into  close  contact  with  Grant,  Garfield,  Arthur,  Harri- 
son, McKinley,  Zach.  Chandler,  Conklin,  and  many 
others.  They  are  all  dead  now;  but  the  days  when  I 
knew  them,  and  we  exchanged  stories  together,  come 
back,  bringing  happy  memories. 

I cannot  forego  relating  one  incident,  recalled  by 
the  names  of  Chandler  and  Conkling.  Conkling  was 
a man  of  fine  physique,  and  was  proud  of  his  skill 
as  a boxer.  He  often  bantered  men  to  put  on  the  gloves 
with  him,  and  at  a dinner  one  night  induced  Senator 
Chandler  to  engage  in  a bout,  which  naturally  ended 
with  the  latter’s  defeat  and  discomfiture.  Chandler, 
however,  bided  his  time,  and  somewhat  later,  when 
another  dinner  was  on,  quietly  engaged  a professional 
pugilist  to  occupy  a seat  at  the  table,  under  the  unob- 
trusive name  of  Mr.  Smith  of  Michigan. 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  Conkling  as  usual  was 


Various  Enterprises  303 

anxious  for  his  favourite  exercise,  and  playfully  ban- 
tered Senator  Chandler  to  engage  him  as  before. 

“ No,  Conkling,”  said  Chandler,  “ I’m  not  in  your 
class.  Suppose  you  try  my  friend  Smith  here,  of 
Michigan.” 

Mr.  “ Smith  ” protested  that  he  knew  very  little  of 
the  sport,  but  Conkling  insisted  and  the  gloves  were 
finally  donned  by  both.  What  happened  to  Conkling 
I am  hardly  prepared  to  describe.  Don  Quixote’s  en- 
counter with  a windmill  was  a small  affair  in  compari- 
son. Mr.  Smith  danced  about  him,  landing  when  and 
where  he  wished,  playing  with  him  as  he  would  with 
a punching  bag.  The  elegant  New  York  senator  was 
dazed,  overwhelmed,  humiliated,  crushed.  When  he 
surrendered  and  called  enough,  as  he  did  at  last,  Sena- 
tor Chandler  smiled  blandly  and  presented  the  pugilist 
in  his  true  colours,  and  Conkling  paid  the  bill. 

For  thirteen  years  uninterruptedly  I owned  and 
edited  the  Nautical  Gazette;  then,  one  autumn,  on  the 
way  from  Washington  I was  in  a train  that  broke  in 
two,  and  I received  injuries  which  made  it  necessary 
for  me  to  give  up  all  work  and  go  abroad.  I did  not 
sell  out,  but  closed  up  the  paper,  paying  all  subscribers 
and  advertisers,  resuming  publication  several  months 
later,  fully  restored  to  health. 

But  I was  unfortunate,  for  a second  accident — this 
time  on  the  elevated  railway — once  more  laid  me  on 
my  back.  I now  leased  the  paper,  and  subsequently  sold 
it,  with  which  transaction  my  proprietary  journalism 
came  to  an  end,  though  I have  never  ceased  to  be  a 
contributor  to  various  publications,  and  am,  at  the 
present  writing,  an  associate  editor  of  the  American 


304  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Shipbuilder.  The  Nautical  Gazette  had  various  for- 
tunes and  owners  after  my  retirement,  and  still  ex- 
ists, a flourishing  publication  owned  by  Crossett  & 
Bates. 

My  own  fortunes  were  varied  and  often  peculiar 
after  this  period.  Through  Mr.  A.  D.  Bryce-Douglas, 
an  old  friend  and  one  of  the  proprietors  of  the  Fair- 
field  Shipbuilding  Works,  at  Go  van,  Scotland,  Sir 
William  Pierce  of  Glasgow  sent  for  me  to  superintend 
the  organisation  of  a line  of  steamers  between  New 
York  and  the  West  Indies.  Both  Mrs.  Osbon  and  my- 
self were  royally  entertained  by  the  prospective  foun- 
ders of  the  new  company.  At  Ardrossan  we  made  our 
home  in  the  Bryce-Douglas  mansion,  whence  we  trav- 
elled here  and  there  as  invited  guests,  attending,  among 
other  events,  the  annual  games  at  Windermere  Lake, 
where  I renewed  my  old  acquaintance  with  the  Prince 
of  Wales. 

I was  to  become  managing  director  of  the  new 
company,  and  after  inspecting  the  plans  for  the  pro- 
posed ships  I returned  to  New  York  and  went  down 
through  the  West  Indies,  where  I visited  every  island 
and  arranged  for  prospective  traffic.  I then  returned  to 
London,  established  offices,  and  contracted  with  Os- 
wald, Mordaunt  & Company  for  the  vessels.  All  the 
papers  were  drawn,  and,  just  three  days  before  they 
were  to  be  signed,  Sir  William  Pierce,  our  financier, 
died.  The  heirs  of  Sir  William  did  not  wish  to  con- 
tinue the  West  Indian  Navigation  scheme,  and  I 
returned  to  the  United  States. 

Meantime  I had  made  a preliminary  contract  with 
the  asphalt  interests  of  Venezuela — the  famous  New 


Various  Enterprises  3° 5 

York  & Bermudez  Company  whose  private  affairs 
have  since  become  so  entangled  with  politics  as  to 
involve  the  United  States  in  an  unsavory  public  em- 
broglio  with  the  Venezuelan  government.  Still  hoping 
to  build  the  transportation  line,  I returned  to  England, 
but  could  effect  no  satisfactory  arrangement.  The 
asphalt  people  now  made  me  a proposition  to  go  to 
Guanoco  and  superintend  their  plant  at  that  point, 
also  the  La  Brea  & Guanoco  Railway.  I accepted,  and 
sailed  from  New  York  on  the  steamer  Fontabelle  for 
my  new  destination.  A number  of  years  had  slipped 
away  in  various  steamship  projects  and  in  other  more 
or  less  successful  undertakings,  and  it  was  January 
nth,  1896,  when  I left  for  the  now  notorious  asphalt 
districts  of  the  south. 

My  experience  as  superintendent  of  the  New  York 
& Bermudez  Company  and  of  the  La  Brea  & Guanoco 
Railway  was  neither  very  long  nor  very  agreeable. 
All  the  petty  intrigue  and  underground  politics  which 
have  since  come  to  the  surface,  as  it  were,  of  the  lakes 
of  pitch  were  then  fermenting,  and  I did  not  fancy 
the  process.  “ Touch  pitch  and  be  defiled  ” is  a prov- 
erb which  would  seem  to  have  been  especially  in- 
vented for  the  asphalt  industry.  In  time,  perhaps,  the 
mix-up  of  companies  and  politics  will  be  understood 
and  rectified;  but  my  own  knowledge  of  the  mess  is 
too  limited  to  undertake  a lucid  analysis  here,  and, 
besides,  the  public  is  already  weary  of  the  theme. 

The  asphalt  lakes,  however,  constitute  one  of  the 
wonders  of  the  world.  The  largest,  La  Brea,  is  about 
five  miles  long  and  three  miles  wide,  and  the  major 
portion  of  it  consists  of  asphalt  in  its  pure  state.  This 


3°6  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

substance  is  a bituminous  vegetable  product,  like  coal, 
distilled  and  diffused  by  some  subterranean  volcanic 
agency,  and  in  its  liquid  state  it  bubbles  and  blisters 
under  the  fierce  tropic  sun — literally  a lake  of  pitch.* 
In  places,  where  it  is  cooled  and  hardened,  it  is  covered 
with  tropical  vegetation,  which  has  to  be  cut  away 
before  the  asphalt  can  be  removed.  The  supply  seems 
inexhaustible,  and  no  matter  how  much  is  taken  out, 
within  a short  time  the  hole  fills  and  the  level  of  the 
lake  is  restored.  Whether  the  supply  is  really  never- 
ending,  time  alone  can  tell. 

A narrow  strip  of  land  but  a few  yards  wide,  and 
upon  which  there  was  then  a growth  of  trees,  separates 
this  lake  from  another,  Lake  Felicidad — the  two  being 
probably  connected  somewhere  in  the  depths.  On  one 
side  is  a range  of  mountains,  on  the  other,  in  close 
proximity,  the  Guanoco  River.  Above  and  below  are 
pampas,  or  muddy  swamp  plains,  extending  on  the 
northward  to  the  Gulf  of  Paria.  It  is  a weird,  sinister 
locality — a place  for  unhealthy  ambitions  and  un- 
natural schemes. 

Perhaps  I should  say  a few  words  here  as  to  the 
method  of  handling  this  strange  merchandise.  The 
workmen  employed  during  my  administration  ranged 
in  number  from  one  hundred  to  three  hundred  West 
India  negroes  and  native  Venezuelans,  about  equally 
divided.  Vessels  were  chartered  and  sent  to  Guanoco 
to  bring  coal  for  the  locomotives,  piles  for  wharfage 
and  various  supplies — the  vessels  to  be  returned  with 
cargoes  of  asphalt  ranging  in  bulk  from  five  hundred 
to  eight  hundred  tons.  Cars  which  brought  the  asphalt 
from  the  lakes  held  about  one  ton  each,  and  to  prevent 
* The  Spanish  name  La  Brea  signifies  pitch. 


Various  Enterprises  307 

the  pitch  from  sticking  to  the  sides  they  were  washed 
with  a coat  of  mud.  The  bodies  of  the  cars  were 
hoisted  from  the  trucks  and  the  contents  dumped  into 
the  ship’s  hold,  in  bulk.  Great  care  had  to  be  exercised 
in  confining  the  asphalt,  for  if  it  shifted  it  was  likely 
to  put  a vessel  on  her  beam  ends.  It  was  a peculiar 
business,  throughout,  and  I was  not  unhappy,  when, 
at  the  end  of  September,  1896,  my  connection  with  it 
ceased. 


XLVIII 

A Mysterious  White  Race 

I WAS  glad,  however,  of  my  Guanoco  experience, 
which  certainly  was  a new  one  to  me,  and  I was 
interested  in  acquainting  myself  with  the  abo- 
rigines of  this  portion  of  the  globe.  These  are  of  two 
distinct  kinds — the  first  being  a few  tribes  of  the 
ordinary  Venezuela  Indians,  who  live  in  swamps  and 
sleep  in  hammocks  made  fast  to  trees,  with  no  other 
covering  than  a few  palm  leaves,  during  the  rainy 
season — the  other  race  being  the  strange  White  In- 
dians of  Venezuela,  of  whom  so  little  has  been  written 
or  is  known,  even  by  natives  of  the  country.  As  it 
became  my  fortune  to  meet  and  to  see  something  of 
a number  of  these  wonderful  people,  it  seems  worth 
while  to  make  more  than  a passing  mention  of  them 
here. 

From  my  arrival  in  Venezuela  I had  heard  marvel- 
lous tales  concerning  them,  how  they  dwelt  in  a fertile 
valley,  surrounded  by  lofty  mountains — living  at  peace 
with  the  world,  because  they  refused  to  mingle  with 
the  people  of  the  world  or  to  allow  anyone  not  of 
their  own  race  to  enter  their  domain.  They  were  said 
to  be  by  no  means  a bloodthirsty  people — quite  the 
contrary,  in  fact — but  strong  to  resist  invasion,  nature 
having  aided  them  in  maintaining  their  seclusion. 
Passing  up  the  San  Juan  River,  the  casual  observer 

308 


A Mysterious  White  Race  309 

would  never  notice  the  mouth  of  a small  navigable 
creek  concealed  by  overhanging  tropic  foliage.  Yet 
this  is  their  gateway,  and  a little  way  above,  a guard 
— all  that  is  needed  for  the  narrow  place — permits 
none  but  the  strange  white  natives  to  pass. 

What  lies  beyond,  in  that  fabulous  valley  of  seclu- 
sion, none  but  themselves  have  ever  seen.  Yet  such  are 
the  reports  of  marvels  there,  that  more  than  one  man 
has  risked  his  life,  and  lost  it,  perhaps,  in  attempting 
to  enter  this  forbidden  land.  It  is  said  that  war, 
famine,  and  pestilence  are  unknown  within  its  bor- 
ders; that  stores  of  priceless  jewels  are  there,  such  as 
the  world  has  never  known;  that  all  of  their  domes- 
tic utensils  are  fashioned  of  beaten  gold.  I don’t 
see  how  men  have  ever  learned  these  things,  when 
nobody  has  ever  been  there,  and  when  the  people  them- 
selves will  have  nothing  to  say  of  their  affairs.  Per- 
haps at  some  time  in  the  past  a member  of  the  race  has 
looked  with  eyes  of  love  upon  a maiden  of  the  outer 
world  and  forsaken  his  country,  and  told  its  tradi- 
tions. It  could  not  have  been  the  other  way  around, 
for  no  maiden  of  the  race  has  ever  been  allowed  out- 
side of  the  happy  valley. 

At  all  events,  these  are  the  reports.  What  we  know 
is,  that  they  weave  the  most  marvellous  hammocks  in 
the  world — hammocks  of  a net  and  filament  so  fine, 
yet  so  strong  and  expansive,  that  one  may  wrap  it 
around  and  around  the  body  in  a countless  envelop- 
ment of  folds  until  one  is  sheathed  and  enshrouded  in 
a perfect  cocoon.  They  have  very  little  outside  traffic 
beyond  this  hammock  industry — the  latter,  when  I was 
there,  being  carried  on  through  the  comandante  del 


3IQ  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

Rio,  General  Brito,  who  had  won  a measure  of  their 
confidence.  To  General  Brito  they  turned  over  their 
hammocks  which,  sold  in  Trinidad,  were  converted 
into  Winchester  rifles,  ammunition  and  certain  articles 
of  clothing.  The  rifles  were  chief  in  importance,  which 
would  indicate  that  the  people  of  mystery  have  recog- 
nised the  use  of  modern  arms,  and  though  peaceful 
are  prepared  to  resist  any  probable  invasion. 

I may  add  that  there  is  a tale  of  some  long  ago  ex- 
pedition— perhaps  of  the  early  Spanish  days — that  at- 
tempted to  enter  the  forbidden  valley  only  to  be 
repulsed  with  such  ghastly  slaughter  that  the  effort 
was  never  repeated ; the  only  undertaking  of  the  kind, 
since,  having  been  a project  on  the  part  of  the  Vene- 
zuelan Government  to  gain  entry  on  a plea  of  taking 
the  census  of  this  unregistered  tribe.  The  Venezuelan 
officials  first  pleaded  with  and  then  threatened  the 
guards  at  the  little  river  gateway.  Then  they  came 
away  strong  in  the  conviction  that  it  was  better  to  keep 
their  own  names  on  the  census  rolls  than  to  try  to  carry 
the  blessings  of  civilisation  into  the  happy  valley.  Its  , 
inhabitants  could  go  uncounted  to  the  crack  of  doom 
for  all  they  cared ; they  probably  wouldn’t  be  interested 
in  asphalt  and  revolution,  anyhow. 

During  my  residence  in  Venezuela  I saw  two  parties 
of  these  strange  people,  each  party  consisting  of  seven 
persons  in  charge  of  General  Brito.  We  were  building 
some  small  huts  ( ranches ) for  the  workmen,  and 
needed  a quantity  of  temeche  palm  for  thatching.  We 
finally  contracted  with  General  Brito  to  build  a num- 
ber of  these  huts  and  thatch  them,  complete.  When  the 
frames  were  ready,  he  left  and  went  up  the  river, 


A Mysterious  White  Race  3 1 1 

returning  a few  days  later  with  a very  large  curiara 
or  canoe  (fashioned  from  a great  single  log),  loaded 
like  a hay  boat  with  the  temeche,  and  manned  by  seven 
unusual-looking  white  men. 

There  were  several  hundred  employees  at  our  works, 
yet  none  of  them  had  ever  seen  such  men  as  these 
before.  Curiosity  ran  high,  for  they  wore  what  re- 
sembled European  clothing,  and  we  all  knew  there 
were  no  white  strangers  in  our  neighbourhood.  Be- 
sides, no  white  men  of  our  race  were  ever  so  adept  at 
using  a paddle  as  these.  When  the  canoe  grounded 
and  General  Brito  came  ashore,  I said  to  him : 

“ Who  and  what  are  those  men?  ” 

“ Those,”  said  General  Brito,  “ are  some  of  the 
famous  White  Indians  of  Venezuela.  I have  con- 
tracted with  them  for  the  temeche,  and  persuaded  them 
to  bring  it  here.  I thought  you  might  like  to  see  a few 
specimens  of  this  race.” 

I watched  them  intently  while  they  unloaded  their 
craft,  which  they  did  in  a brisk,  busy  way,  saying  not 
a single  word  during  the  operation.  Then  by  Brito’s 
invitation  they  pulled  their  canoe  up  high  and  dry  on 
the  shore  and  gathered  around  him. 

I had  an  excellent  opportunity  to  study  their  physi- 
cal characteristics,  and  I think  I was  never  so  im- 
pressed by  any  human  beings.  In  the  first  place  they 
were  absolutely  different  from  any  people  I had  ever 
seen.  They  were  white,  it  is  true,  but  it  was  not  the 
white  of  the  Caucasian,  nor  yet  the  pallor  of  the 
arsenic  eater,  or  of  disease.  It  was  a strange,  inde- 
scribable white  that  would  attract  attention  anywhere, 
and,  though  so  unusual,  did  not  repel.  In  their  cheeks 


312  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

there  was  a pinkish  hue,  but  their  skin  showed  no  tan 
or  burn,  such  as  one  is  led  to  expect  in  that  fierce 
climate,  where  the  thermometer  ranges  at  from  1220 
to  130°  at  midday. 

Their  features  were  well  formed  and  regular.  They 
had  moderately  high  foreheads;  full,  round,  but  keen, 
eyes;  well  formed  noses;  mouths  indicating  firmness; 
beautiful  ears;  well  rounded  chins.  Their  hair  was 
coal-black,  but  not  coarse.  In  figure  they  were  graceful 
and  of  medium  height,  with  a weight  of  perhaps  one 
hundred  and  forty-five  pounds.  They  stood  erect  and 
were  apparently  of  great  strength.  Their  hands  and 
feet  were  well  formed  and  seemed  small. 

Their  clothing,  as  I have  said,  was  European.  It 
had  been  purchased  in  Port  of  Spain,  evidently,  and 
the  wearers  seemed  quite  at  home  in  it,  though  it  was 
General  Brito’s  belief  that  such  attire  was  never  worn 
inside  their  own  domain.  It  was  put  on  for  contact 
with  the  outside  world,  and  then  only  by  a few.  Such 
native  dress  as  he  had  seen  was  very  simple,  and  was 
not  unlike  that  worn  by  the  darker  tribes.  What  was 
the  female  attire,  he  could  not  guess,  as  never  in  all 
his  forty  years’  experience  in  that  district  had  he  seen 
a woman  of  this  white  race,  nor  a female  child.  He 
knew  little  of  their  language,  and  absolutely  nothing 
of  their  manners  and  customs,  except  that  they  had 
learned  the  use  of  firearms  and  tobacco. 

You  may  imagine  how  intently  I studied  the  little 
group,  while  these  curious  people  in  turn  showed  a cer- 
tain mild  interest  in  us  and  our  surroundings.  We 
tried  to  get  them  to  ride  up  to  the  superintendent’s 
house  on  the  train,  but  they  preferred  to  walk  rather 


A Mysterious  White  Race  313 

than  trust  themselves  behind  a locomotive.  They  en- 
tered the  building,  however,  and  were  taken  through 
the  various  departments,  the  office,  the  kitchen,  and 
the  store,  all  of  which  seemed  to  give  them  a quiet 
pleasure.  In  the  store  we  treated  them  to  some  refresh- 
ments and  cigars,  both  of  which  they  took  without 
reserve.  Then  we  showed  them  the  carpenter  shops; 
also  the  wharf,  where  vessels  were  being  loaded.  They 
went  aboard  one  of  the  vessels  and  walked  about  the 
decks,  gazed  up  at  the  lofty  spars  and  down  into  the 
hatchways,  but  they  could  not  be  persuaded  to  go  into 
the  hold  or  the  cabin.  After  two  or  three  hours  with 
us  they  pushed  their  curiara  off  the  river  bank,  and 
seizing  their  paddles  were  soon  out  of  sight  around  a 
bend  of  the  river,  homeward  bound. 

About  a week  later  General  Brito  brought  down 
another  load  of  temeche  palm  with  another,  and  en- 
tirely different,  crew  of  the  strange  people.  They  be- 
haved precisely  like  their  predecessors,  and  in  a brief 
space  disappeared  into  their  mysterious  seclusion  and 
we  saw  them  no  more.  General  Brito  said  that  he  had 
never  seen  any  sign  of  gold  or  treasure  among  them, 
and  he  thought  the  stories  told  were  largely  mythical. 
It  was  possible,  he  thought,  that  they  might  have  cer- 
tain jewels  and  articles  of  gold  and  silver,  used  for 
ornament  or  religious  service,  but  he  believed  it  un- 
likely that  domestic  implements  would  be  fashioned 
of  any  precious  metal,  for  they  knew  its  value  and 
would  use  their  surplus  to  supply  their  needs.  Yet  it 
is  just  possible  that  in  their  wisdom  they  have  never 
let  any  sign  of  their  mineral  wealth  appear,  realising 
that  to  do  so  would  excite  the  cupidity  of  the  cruel 


3J4  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

conquering  race  which  has  destroyed  every  other 
aboriginal  nation  of  the  South,  and  incite  a struggle 
which  would  end  in  their  own  extinction.  For  one, 
I sincerely  hope  that  through  ages  to  come  they  may 
maintain  the  peace  and  seclusion  of  their  happy  valley. 


XLIX 

Locating  Cervera’s  Fleet 

I REMAINED  for  a considerable  time  in  South 
America  after  severing  my  connection  with  the 
Bermudez  company,  engaged  in  various  under- 
takings. Eventually  I went  to  Caracas,  thence  to 
Carupano,  where  I remained  several  months,  making 
a survey  of  a railroad  route  to  the  vast  sulphur  de- 
posits there,  also  of  the  deposits  themselves  and  of  the 
harbour  of  Carupano — a chart  of  which  was  published 
by  the  United  States  Hydrographic  Office  at  Wash- 
ington, and  for  which  the  Government  of  Venezuela 
very  kindly  decorated  me  with  the  order  of  the  Bust 
of  the  Liberator. 

Meantime,  war  between  the  United  States  and  Spain 
had  been  brewing,  the  Maine  was  blown  up  in  Havana 
Harbour,  and  the  Spanish  fleet  commanded  by  Ad- 
miral Cervera  was  somewhere  on  the  water — knowl- 
edge of  its  exact  locality  being  the  most  important  bit 
of  information  which  could  be  supplied  to  the  United 
States  Government  and  the  American  people,  espe- 
cially to  those  residing  near  the  coast. 

I had  a theory  concerning  the  movements  of  these 
vessels,  deduced  from  my  long  experience  at  sea,  my 
acquaintance  with  the  needs  and  operations  of  such 
ships,  and  my  knowledge  of  the  various  harbours  and 
bases  of  supply  absolutely  necessary  to  their  support. 

315 


3*6  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

I had,  further,  a plan  for  passenger-steamer  scouting, 
by  which  I believed  the  enemy  could  be  more  carefully 
observed  and  reported  without  exciting  suspicion  than 
from  any  naval  vessel.  There  were  passenger  steamers 
that  made  every  port  of  supply  available  to  the  Span- 
ish Fleet.  I decided  to  undertake  such  a tour  of  ob- 
servation, and  tendered  my  services  by  letter  to  the 
Navy  Department  at  Washington.  The  authorities  ap- 
peared somewhat  doubtful  of  my  plan,  at  first,  but  on 
May  nth  (1898)  I was  supplied  by  Secretary  John 
D.  Long  with  the  necessary  credentials,  with  orders 
to  report  by  wire  through  our  consuls. 

In  the  meantime  I had  been  doing  some  detective 
work  in  port.  I casually  interviewed  every  man  that 
came  to  Caracas  from  the  West  Indies,  but  found  only 
one  who  claimed  he  had  seen  the  Spanish  Fleet,  and 
that  a long  time  before. 

I did  at  last,  however,  find  a genuine  source  of  in- 
formation in  the  valet  of  the  Spanish  Minister  at 
Caracas.  The  valet  by  no  means  confided  anything 
to  me  direct,  but  he  was  shaved  in  a barber  shop  kept 
by  a Frenchman,  and  from  the  earliest  dawn  of  his- 
tory the  barber  has  been  noted  no  less  for  his  ability 
to  acquire  information  than  for  his  soothing  and  lo- 
quacious distribution  of  such  knowledge.  I believe  this 
particular  barber  meant  to  be  discreet,  but  we  were 
very  good  friends,  and  he  did  love  to  talk,  especially 
as  I made  it  a point  to  shave  with  great  frequency — 
as  often  as  twice  a day  sometimes — and  was  not  un- 
generous in  the  matter  of  fees. 

I never  met  the  valet  personally,  but  I manufactured 
information  which  I knew  would  be  repeated  to  him, 


Locating  Cervera’s  Fleet  317 

and  which  could  not  fail  to  elicit  something  of  value 
in  the  way  of  reply.  Thus,  in  a manner,  I rigged  a 
long-range  suction  pump  on  him,  and  little  came  into 
the  Legation  at  Caracas  that  did  not  find  its  way 
through  the  barber  into  my  reservoir  of  knowledge.  I 
learned,  what  I had  suspected,  that  Cervera’s  fleet  was 
bound  for  the  West  Indies,  also  at  what  points  the 
vessels  were  expected  to  coal.  This  was  important, 
but  not  sufficiently  exact  as  to  the  matter  of  time. 
Perhaps  I should  mention  in  passing  that  there  were 
some  anxious  days  and  nights  in  Caracas  about  this 
period.  A rumour  became  current  that  the  Spaniards 
had  planned  to  massacre  every  Yankee  in  the  city — 
a little  bunch  of  less  than  forty  souls,  all  told — and 
for  a while  the  American  contingent  was  considerably 
disturbed,  especially  as  President  Andrade  thought  it 
necessary  to  place  an  armed  guard  around  the  United 
States  Legation. 

On  May  1 2th  I went  prospecting  to  La  Guayra,  and 
after  locating  Mrs.  Osbon,  who  was  me,  at  the  Hotel 
Neptuno,  I met  a little  coloured  boy  whom  I had 
known  at  Guanoco,  and  who  was  now  in  the  cable 
office  at  La  Guayra.  Here  was  an  unexpected  mine  of 
information.  The  cable  operators  talked  among  them- 
selves, and  my  little  coloured  friend  overheard  much 
that  was  going  on.  I presented  him  with  a silver  dol- 
lar and  told  him  what  I wanted  to  know.  That  evening 
he  met  me  by  appointment,  and  I learned  from  him 
where  the  Ristormel — a collier  loaded  with  four  thou- 
sand tons  of  coal,  was  expected  to  meet  Cervera’s  fleet. 
Knowing  the  marine  geography  of  the  coast  as  I did, 
and  all  the  possibilities  and  probabilities  of  navigation 


3 1 ^ A Sailor  of  Fortune 

in  that  part  of  the  world,  I felt  sure  now  that  I could, 
without  great  difficulty,  locate  the  missing  fleet. 

I went  out  next  morning,  and  secured  passage 
north  in  the  Dutch  steamer,  Prins  Frederick  Heinrick, 
Captain  Neiman,  which  would  call  at  Curagao,  Jacmel, 
Aux  Cayes,  and  Port  au  Prince.  At  one  of  these  ports, 
or  en  route,  I felt  certain  that  we  should  find  the 
Spanish  ships.  I immediately  telephoned  to  Mr. 
Loomis,  then  our  minister  at  Caracas,  that  I was  going 
north  in  the  Dutch  boat,  and  he  informed  me  that  a 
messenger  would  come  down  on  the  three  o’clock  train 
with  despatches. 

It  was  six  o’clock  on  the  evening  of  Friday,  May 
13th,  that  we  sailed  from  La  Guayra — an  unlucky 
combination  in  the  matter  of  dates,  one  might  think; 
but  this  time  the  evil  charm  which  is  supposed  to  be 
attached  to  Friday  and  the  thirteenth  day  failed  to 
work.  Perhaps  as  two  negatives  make  a positive,  so 
the  very  combination  of  two  bad  omens  makes  a good 
one.  At  all  events,  it  was  a calm,  pleasant  night,  and 
there  was  a congenial  company  aboard  the  little  Dutch 
vessel.  Among  the  passengers  were  three  American 
boys  named  Davis,  upon  whom  I felt  I could  rely  if  I 
needed  any  assistance  in  carrying  out  my  plans.  I con- 
cluded, however,  that  it  was  too  early  to  expect  de- 
velopments that  night,  and  I retired  early  saying 
nothing  to  anyone.  Nevertheless,  I had  a strong  sailor 
presentiment  that  on  the  next  day  there  would  be 
something  to  see  or  hear. 

At  five  next  morning  I was  awake,  and  partly  dress- 
ing myself,  went  on  deck.  The  dim  outline  of  the 
Island  of  Curagao  appeared  on  the  horizon,  but  too 


Locating  Cervera’s  Fleet  319 

dim  and  far  away  to  reveal  anything  in  the  way  of 
vessels  there.  I went  below  and  was  in  the  act  of  shav- 
ing when  I heard  the  man  on  watch  report  a sail  off 
the  starboard  beam.  I hurried  on  deck  and  met  the 
captain,  who  said  there  was  some  smoke  to  the  east- 
ward. I went  below  again,  finished  my  toilet,  and 
going  out  on  deck,  ascended  the  rigging.  Looking 
away  to  the  eastward  I saw  the  smoke  of  a squadron. 
The  captain  called  up, 

“ Those  are  English  vessels,  going  from  San  Lucia 
to  Jamaica.” 

“Not  much!”  I called  back;  “those  are  Spanish 
ships.  That  is  Cervera’s  fleet ! ” 

Increasing  daylight  and  lessening  distance  estab- 
lished my  claim.  I knew  the  names  of  the  vessels,  and 
before  long  could  recognise  them  from  their  pictures. 
There  were  the  Maria  Teresa,  the  Viscaya,  the 
Oquendo,  the  Cristobal  Colon,  and  the  two  torpedo 
boats,  Furor  and  Pluton — a third,  the  Terror,  having 
been  crippled  and  left  behind  at  Guadeloupe.  To  see 
them  thus  was  to  me  a beautiful  sight.  They  did  not 
look  beautiful  when  I saw  them  at  closer  range,  but 
distance  concealed  their  unsightliness,  and  moreover 
they  were  glorified  to  me  in  the  fact  that  my  scouting 
theory  was  so  promptly  justified,  and  that  I had  lo- 
cated the  game.  All  the  machinery  of  the  Government 
had  been  put  into  service  to  discover  the  Spanish  Fleet, 
and  now  here  it  was  under  my  very  eyes.  A cable  to 
Washington,  and  a nervous  nation  would  know  the 
truth. 

As  we  drew  nearer  I made  a careful  survey  of  the 
vessels,  their  armament,  their  draft  of  water — which 


3 20  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

told  me  how  light  they  were  with  coal — the  character 
of  their  crews,  and  their  appearance  in  general.  I be- 
gan to  see  now  that  they  were  less  beautiful  than  I had 
at  first  thought  them,  though  it  was  not  until  we  were 
directly  upon  them  that  the  fulness  of  their  sad  condi- 
tion became  apparent. 

Meantime,  the  officers  in  a pilot  boat  had  entered 
the  Harbour  to  arrange  for  the  admission  of  the  ves- 
sels. Cervera  desired  that  two  of  his  ships  should  be 
permitted  to  enter  for  the  twenty-four  hour  limit,  and 
then  two  more,  for  the  Ristormel,  the  collier,  had  thus 
far  not  effected  a conjunction  with  him  and  his  need 
was  very  great.  Two  vessels  only,  his  flagship,  Maria 
Teresa,  and  the  Viscaya,  were  accorded  the  privilege. 
The  Davis  boys  made  photographs  as  the  vessels  passed 
in — probably  the  last  ever  taken  of  the  Spanish  ships. 

I was  the  first  passenger  ashore  at  Curasao,  eager 
to  get  in  touch  with  Washington  so  that  Sampson  or 
Schley  might  be  sent  swooping  down  upon  the  enemy. 
I had  my  cablegram  all  ready,  with  full  details  as  to 
the  condition  and  needs  of  the  vessels,  all  of  which 
was  most  important,  as  it  would  enable  our  experts  to 
calculate  precisely  on  the  force  necessary  to  oppose 
them,  as  well  as  upon  probable  movements.  Our  con- 
sul, Mr.  Smith,  however,  was  a man  of  commercial 
rather  than  military  instincts,  and  having  informed 
me  that  he  had  already  forwarded  the  facts  of  the 
fleet’s  arrival,  thought  that  sufficient.  A cable  from 
Mr.  Loomis  settled  the  matter,  and  my  report  was 
forwarded,  forthwith. 

I had  by  this  time  communicated  the  fact  of  my 
special  mission  to  the  three  Davis  boys  and  enlisted 


Locating  Cervera’s  Fleet  321 

their  aid,  which  they  gave  with  patriotic  eagerness.  I 
found  that  our  consul  owned  the  only  coal  pile  of  any 
value  on  the  island,  and  that  it  was  feared  pressure 
might  be  brought  to  bear  upon  him  to  dispose  of  it,  if 
not  to  the  Spaniards,  at  least  to  some  one  who  would 
direct  its  course  toward  the  bunkers  of  the  Spanish 
fleet.  Without  hesitation,  therefore,  I posted  one  of  the 
Davis  boys  as  a guard  on  the  coal  pile,  and  warned 
the  consul  that  any  disposal  of  the  coal  by  which  it 
would  be  transferred  to  Cervera’s  vessels  would  be  re- 
ported to  the  authorities  at  Washington.  I am  afraid 
he  was  not  very  pleasant  over  the  matter;  but  he  re- 
frained from  violence,  and  our  guard  proved  effective. 

The  other  two  Davis  boys  acted  as  scouts,  and  I also 
enlisted  the  services  of  some  patriotic  friends  in  Cura- 
sao. Among  us  we  kept  near  to  all  the  Spanish  officers 
who  came  ashore,  listening  closely  to  their  talk,  with 
the  hope  of  getting  a clue  to  their  next  destination. 
They  were  very  careful,  however.  They  talked  freely 
of  various  points  in  the  West  Indies,  all  of  which  I 
knew  to  be  out  of  the  question  for  them — only  once 
letting  fall  the  name  of  Santiago. 

This  was  their  most  accessible  harbour,  and  the  fact 
that  they  spoke  the  name  but  once  and  then  imme- 
diately avoided  it,  convinced  me  that  Santiago  was 
to  be  their  final  haven.  I promptly  added  another 
cable  to  this  effect,  but  I have  every  reason  to  believe 
that  it  was  never  sent.  If  it  was,  I have  been  unable 
to  learn  of  the  fact.  Consul  Smith  is  dead  now,  and 
I would  not  for  the  world  do  him  an  injustice;  but 
it  was  my  opinion,  and  it  was  the  opinion  of  many  in 
Curasao,  that  he  had  been  in  tropical  latitudes  so  long 


322  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

and  had  so  many  commercial  interests  there,  that  he 
was  not  in  full  sympathy  with  the  nation  he  officially 
served. 

Meantime,  the  Maria  Teresa  and  the  Viscaya  were 
laying  in  needed  supplies.  Lighters  loaded  with  pro- 
vision and  the  refuse  of  a coal  pile — the  only  fuel  out- 
side of  Smith’s  in  Curasao — were  moving  to  and  fro, 
making  good  use  of  the  time  limit.  Well  for  them 
that  they  had  even  this  grace,  for  their  need  was  indeed 
bitter.  While  we  had  been  lying  outside,  waiting  for  a 
pilot,  we  had  a fine  opportunity  to  examine  our  enemy 
at  close  range.  That  they  were  our  enemy,  made  it 
needful  that  we  should  do  all  in  our  power  to  oppose 
and  circumvent  them,  but  I can  tell  you  there  was  not 
even  mirth  in  my  heart  as  I regarded  the  pitiable  con- 
dition of  the  Spanish  Fleet. 

The  line  of  vessels  that  had  presented  so  grand  an 
appearance  as  they  steamed  up  on  our  starboard  beam 
became  only  a wretched  looking  lot  of  iron  hulks  when 
viewed  at  a distance  of  a hundred  yards.  A vessel  in 
perfect  condition  is  a beautiful  thing;  but  on  the  other 
hand  when  she  looks  “ tough  ” she  looks  “ awful 
tough,”  and  of  all  the  “ tough  ” vessels  I have  ever 
seen,  those  of  Cervera  were  the  worst. 

Being  so  light,  they  rolled  heavily  and  revealed  bot- 
toms fouled  thickly  with  weeds  and  barnacles.  Above 
the  water  line  they  already  had  the  general  appearance 
of  the  scrap  iron  which  they  were  doomed  to  become. 
As  for  the  crews,  they  were  gaunt,  listless,  and  hollow- 
eyed  with  hunger,  with  never  a smile  on  the  faces  of 
either  officers  or  men.  In  fact,  there  was  something 
almost  uncanny  about  the  appearance  of  those  vessels 


Locating  Cervera’s  Fleet  323 

and  their  crews.  They  were  like  the  ghosts  of  vessels 
and  men,  long  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  A mournful 
sight  they  were,  making  manifest  a naval  poverty  such 
as  I had  never  imagined.  To  prophesy  anything  for 
them  but  defeat  was  to  excite  derision.  They  were  not 
even  a forlorn  hope.  Men  and  vessels,  they  were 
doomed. 

During  Cervera’s  stay  in  Curasao  cablegrams  from 
Spain  and  Cuba  were  constantly  coming,  and  early  on 
Sunday  afternoon  a message  reached  him  which 
caused  him  to  prepare  for  immediate  departure.  Coal- 
ing ceased  and  even  some  of  the  livestock,  though 
already  paid  for,  was  not  taken  aboard.  Men  were 
summoned,  boats  hoisted,  and  the  Viscaya  and  Maria 
Teresa  steamed  slowly  down  the  harbour,  to  be  joined 
outside  by  the  remainder  of  the  fleet.  I posted  a look- 
out on  the  highest  point  of  the  island  to  watch  the 
ships  so  long  as  they  were  visible.  Evidently  they  were 
steaming  for  the  little  island  of  Bon-Aire,  where  they 
would  transfer  some  of  their  supplies,  and  where  they 
perhaps  still  hoped  to  meet  the  missing  Ristormel.  I 
felt  certain  that  Santiago  was  their  destination.  They 
had  too  little  coal  to  try  for  Cienfuegos  or  Havana, 
and,  besides,  there  was  the  constant  danger  of  meet- 
ing Sampson  or  Schley. 

I tried  to  prevail  upon  Consul  Smith  to  let  me  use  a 
small  Dominican  steamer  which  he  controlled  to  fol- 
low the  fleet  at  a respectful  distance  and  make  certain 
of  its  course;  but  my  request  was  refused,  with  the 
result  that  Cervera  did  make  Santiago  unseen,  and  for 
a time  lay  safely  hidden  in  that  port. 

Our  own  vessel,  the  Prins  Fredrick  Heinrick,  sailed 


324  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

from  Curasao  Monday  afternoon,  and  all  the  way  to 
the  North  I and  my  faithful  assistants,  William,  Clive, 
and  Clare  Davis,  did  scout  duty,  keeping  watch,  night 
and  day,  and  making  diligent  inquiries  in  different 
ports.  We  accomplished  nothing  further,  however,  and 
arriving  in  New  York  I placed  a detailed  report  in  the 
hands  of  the  United  States  despatch  agent  in  the  Post 
Office  building,  and  went  home  for  a needed  rest.  A 
few  days  later  I received  the  Department’s  acknowl- 
edgment and  thanks.*  I had  expected  no  other  re- 
ward. I did  receive,  however,  from  Leslie’s  Weekly  a 
modest  sum  in  payment  for  a brief  account  of  the 
matter,  published  June  23d;  and  in  this  I prophesied 
that  the  battle  which  followed  ten  days  later  might 
be  desperate,  but  that  it  would  be  short,  as,  indeed, 
it  was.  When  we  saw  those  vessels  disappear  below 
the  horizon  at  Curasao  we  knew  that  they  went  to  cer- 
tain annihilation. 

♦Washington,  June  3d,  1898. 

Sir: — The  Department  received  your  letter  of  the  28th  ultimo, 
reporting  your  observations  of  the  Spanish  Fleet  off  and  in  the 
port  of  Curasao,  and  detailing  your  work  as  a volunteer  scout 
while  on  your  way  to  New  York.  The  Department  appreciates 
your  patriotic  interest  in  this  matter,  and  thanks  you  for  your 
very  interesting  report 

Very  respectfully, 

Chas.  H.  Allen, 

Acting  Secretary , 

Mr.  B.  S.  Osbon, 

No.  15  Whitehall  St.,  New  York  City. 


L 

In  a Quiet  Harbour 

* 

THE  destruction  of  Cervera’s  fleet  occurred  at 
Santiago  de  Cuba,  July  3d,  1898.  During  the 
following  month  the  Spanish-American  war 
ended,  and  with  it  closed  my  last  participation  in  naval 
affairs.  There  has  been  no  opportunity  for  action  of 
any  sort  since  then,  and,  besides,  the  reader  of  a 
mathematical  turn  of  mind  will  perhaps  have  calcu- 
lated that  I was  already,  in  1898,  beyond  the  Scrip- 
tural age  limit  allowed  to  man  in  these  latter  days, 
and  hence,  though  still  hale  and  brisk,  I am  no  longer 
considered  so  available  for  active  duties  of  the  service. 
My  later  years  have  been  passed  in  comparative  quiet, 
and  in  an  effort  to  live  comfortably  on  such  modest 
means  as  have  been  at  my  command. 

As  I recall  my  life  now,  after  thus  passing  it  in  re- 
view, the  incidents  seem  to  crowd  one  upon  the  other 
so  rapidly  that  I wonder  sometimes  where  I have 
found  room  for  them  all.  Yet  they  were  all  there, 
and  there  have  been  others  which  I have  not  found 
space  to  recount.  Perhaps  I should  have  made  some 
reference  to  the  half-dozen  books  and  pamphlets  I 
have  compiled  from  time  to  time,  for  though  they  did 
not  seem  to  me  of  any  special  importance  at  the  mo- 
ment of  publication,  I realise  now  that  they  were  not 
without  a place  and  purpose.  One  volume,  a “ Hand- 

325 


32^  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

book  of  the  Navy  ” * — a list  of  every  naval  vessel 
then  in  existence,  and  a brief  history  of  the  same — 
was  used  by  the  Navy  Department  in  considerable 
numbers,  and  is  still,  I believe,  accepted  as  authority 
for  that  period.  Another  little  book,  “ The  Deviation 
of  the  Compass,”  was  regarded  as  useful  by  mariners, 
and  had  a satisfactory  sale. 

Then  I suppose  I should  make  some  record  of  cer- 
tain posts  of  honour  which  in  the  course  of  events  have 
fallen  to  my  share.  In  1890  I was  elected  captain  of 
the  Naval  Veterans,  at  their  annual  encampment  in 
Boston — in  1891  commodore,  and  in  1892  rear  ad- 
miral of  the  association,  filling  each  office  for  the 
period  of  one  year.  During  this  time  I was  also  nomi- 
nated for  the  office  of  junior  vice  department  com- 
mander of  the  New  York  State  Grand  Army,  losing 
the  election  by  six  votes.  On  the  following  year  I was 
nominated  again,  but,  through  some  jealousy  then  ex- 
isting, a report  was  circulated  that  I was  not  eligible, 
it  being  declared  that  I was  never  on  the  roll  books 
of  the  Navy.t  I had  no  desire  to  fill  the  office  after 
that,  but  as  an  answer  to  my  detractors  I obtained 
letters  from  officials  and  a number  of  my  old  shipmates, 
and  these,  with  a few  other  credentials  which  I had  pre- 

* “ Osbon’s  Handbook  of  the  Navy.”  D.  Van  Nostrand  & Co., 
N.  Y.,  1864. 

t DEPARTMENT  OF  YARDS  AND  DOCKS. 

Navy  Yard,  Boston,  Mass.,  Aug.  20th,  1892. 
Captain  B.  S.  Osbon, 

New  York  City. 

Dear  Sir  and  Shipmate: 

It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  bear  honourable  testimony  as 
to  your  services  on  the  Hartford  from  January  to  May  1862 


In  a Quiet  Harbour  3 27 

served,  I compiled  in  a small  leaflet,  after  which  I was 
annoyed  no  more  in  that  direction.  My  effort  has  been 
only  to  serve  well,  and  as  senior  officer  of  the  Naval 
Veterans  I had  the  good  fortune  to  be  able  to  further 
the  publication  of  the  “ Official  Records  of  the  Union 
and  Confederate  Navies,”  a work  not  yet  complete,  but 
being  now  well  and  handsomely  issued. 

On  the  17th  of  June,  1895,  I commanded  the  fleet 

as  Flag  Officer  Farragut’s  Clerk  and  Signal  Officer.  I remember 
distinctly  the  zeal  and  energy  you  displayed  and  the  commenda- 
tions you  received  from  Farragut  on  a number  of  different  occa- 
sions, but  especially  on  the  night  we  passed  Forts  Jackson  and 
St.  Phillip.  You  were  always  ready  for  duty,  whenever  any  ex- 
pedition or  reconnaissance  was  being  set  on  foot.  You  certainly 
did  your  whole  duty  while  you  were  an  appointed  officer  on 
board  of  the  Hartford  and  it  affords  me  pleasure  to  make  these 
statements.  Yours  very  truly, 

Albert  Kautz, 

Captain  U.  S.  N. 

lU.  S.  STEAMER  SAN  FRANCISCO , 

Flagship  of  the  Pacific  Station, 

Honolulu,  H.  I.,  July  17th,  1892. 

Commodore  B.  S.  Osbon, 

National  Association  of  Naval  Veterans, 

United  States,  New  York  City. 

Dear  Sir  and  Shipmate  (in  former  days ) : 

I regret  that  any  one  has  questioned  the  fact  of  your  having 
served  your  country  in  battle,  and  am  glad  to  be  able  to  say  that 
you  were  with  us  when  we  passed  Forts  Jackson  and  St.  Phillip 
when  the  City  of  New  Orleans  was  held  by  the  Navy,  that  you 
were  then  Flag  Officer  Farragut’s  Clerk  and  also  personally  at- 
tended to  the  signals.  We  were  shipmates,  and  you  left  the 
Hartford  with  a grand  reputation.  Captain  Kautz  is  Captain  of 
the  Yard  at  Boston,  and  he  will  also  be  able  to  certify  to  your 
services,  also  Mr.  Herbert  Tyson  of  Philadelphia.  I have  heard 
of  your  excellent  record  since  you  left  the  Hartford.  Rear 
Admiral  Irwin,  U.  S.  N.,  at  present  commandant  of  the  Mare 


3 28  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

of  vessels  in  the  water  parade  on  the  occasion  of  the 
opening  of  the  Harlem  Ship  Canal,  leading  over  one 
hundred  vessels  of  all  types  through  the  canal  without 
an  accident  or  a moment’s  delay,  a feat  highly  com- 
mended by  naval  officers  and  the  public  press. 

And  so  we  have  reached  the  end  of  our  long  way. 
And  a long  way  it  is,  for  it  began  far  back  in  another 

Island  Navy  Yard,  remembers  you  in  Dupont’s  squadron  and  I 
think  by  your  request  will  write  you  a letter.  It  is  annoying  to 
have  any  doubt  upon  one’s  War  Record  but  any  attempt  to  deny 
your  having  been  under  fire  in  the  passage  of  the  Forts  with 
Farragut  must  recoil.  Yours  very  truly, 

As  a shipmate  of  war  times,  and  a Naval  Veteran, 

J.  C.  Watson, 

Captain  U.  S.  N. 

147  Pierrepont  St.,  Brooklyn,  June  28th,  1892. 

Captain  B.  S.  Osbon. 

Dear  Sir: 

I have  received  your  letter  and  am  quite  astonished  to  hear  of 
any  question  being  raised  in  regard  to  your  services  during  the 
War  of  the  Rebellion.  I feel  provoked  to  write  anything  about 
a matter  which  is  so  well  known  to  your  great  credit,  and  know- 
ing of  your  services  in  the  U.  S.  Flagship  Hartford  as  I do 
I feel  the  most  profound  contempt  for  those  who  have  caused 
you  any  annoyance.  The  idea  now  in  ’92  to  question  your  serv- 
ices 41  years  after  the  war  began.  You  were  Admiral  Farra- 
gut’s  Clerk  and  Signal  Officer.  At  Pilot  Town,  mouth  of  the 
Mississippi,  you  assisted  in  hoisting  the  flag  there.  At  the  battles 
of  Forts  Jackson  and  St.  Phillip,  you  hoisted  by  order  of  Farra- 
gut the  signal  for  the  attack  to  begin,  and  during  that  ever 
memorable  battle  when  the  Hartford  was  aground  and  on  fire 
you  did  all  you  could  to  allay  the  excitement  among  some  of 
the  men,  and  extinguished  the  fire.  The  next  day,  April  25th, 
at  the  battle  of  Chalmette  you  were  very  active  in  the  perform- 
ance of  your  duty  signalling  and  carrying  messages  to  the  divi- 
sion officers  at  the  great  guns,  myself  among  that  number.  At 
Carrollton  above  New  Orleans  I saw  you  leave  our  ship  with  a 


In  a Quiet  Harbour  329 

century,  while  just  a little  beyond  the  horizon  is  the 
signal  buoy  that  will  tally  four  score  years.  I voyage 
now  in  quiet  and  familiar  waters.  The  compass  no 
longer  points  to  unknown  harbours,  over  uncharted 
seas.  The  course  is  no  longer  marked  by  the  flash  of 
cutlass  and  the  roar  of  guns.  Like  any  other  craft 
of  a vanished  time,  I have  been  retired  from  the  fiercer 
action  of  the  front,  trying  to  be  content  with  the' 
memories  of  the  vanished  days.  Yet  the  smell  of  pow- 

force  which  went  on  shore  to  capture  the  rebel  guns  and  burn 
the  gun  carriages  which  the  rebels  left  in  their  batteries,  as  we 
had  to  leave  there  and  did  not  wish  the  rebels  to  return  and 
obtain  their  guns  during  our  absence.  I saw  you  go  with  the 
Admiral,  then  Flag  Officer,  before  the  battle  of  New  Orleans, 
on  a reconnaissance  in  a small  steamer,  the  Iroquois , and  while 
on  that  duty  you  were  under  a heavy  fire  from  both  Forts  Jack- 
son  and  St.  Phillip.  If  the  “ bummers  ” who  have  maligned  you 
were  ever  under  such  a fire  as  that,  I really  believe  they  would 
be  like  the  frog  in  the  fable,  burst  with  self-importance.  After 
you  left  the  ship  honourably,  I heard  of  you  during  the  entire 
duration  of  the  war.  I have  no  more  to  say  except  that  you  give 
my  compliments  to  your  enemies  and  tell  them  to  go  to  Hades. 

Yours  truly, 

John  L.  Broome, 
Lieutenant  Colonel,  U . S'.  Marines. 

NAVY  PAY  OFFICE 

New  York,  June  24th,  1892. 

This  is  to  certify  that  the  records  of  this  office  show  that 
Bradley  S.  Osbon,  Flag  Officer’s  Clerk  of  the  West  Gulf  Block- 
ading Squadron,  was  paid  Prize  Money  for  captures  made  at 
New  Orleans  by  said  Squadron. 

A.  J.  Clark, 

Pay  Director,  U.  S.  Navy  ( in  charge ). 

NAVY  DEPARTMENT 

Washington,  D.  C.,  July  20th,  1892. 

Sir:  Referring  to  your  letter  requesting  information  in  regard 
to  your  appointment,  service  and  discharge  as  Clerk  of  the  late 


33°  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

der  puts  it  all  before  me  and  makes  me  long  some- 
times for  the  flash  and  roar  of  battle — to  feel  the  deck 
lift  and  rock  to  the  thunder  of  heavy  guns.  Perhaps 
the  old  craft  may  be  good  for  another  voyage  yet — 
something  with  just  enough  of  the  flavour  of  con- 
quest and  adventure  to  set  one’s  pulse  going  and  make 
him  forget  the  years. 

But  a few  blocks  away  from  my  present  snug  har- 
bour, at  the  foot  of  Twenty-fourth  Street,  New  York 
City,  is  moored  another  old  craft — a friend  of  my 
youth — the  sloop  of  war,  St.  Mary’s.  The  reader  may 
recall  how  I first  met  her  at  Honolulu,  and  how  we 
helped  her  to  defend  Hawaii  from  the  Frenchmen,  so 
long  ago.  She  is  a school  ship  now,  and  often  I go 
down  to  visit  her,  and  talk  to  the  boys,  who,  I think, 
are  always  glad  to  see  me,  and  to  hear  my  sailor  yarns. 
The  St.  Mary’s  is  of  my  time  and  kind — the  sort  of  a 
vessel  I know  and  love  best.  To  me,  of  course,  the  new 
ships  and  the  new  commanders  can  never  be  as  the  old 
ships  and  the  old  commanders.  Yet  the  new  ships  com- 

Admiral  Farragut,  U.  S.  Navy,  in  the  year  1862,  I have  to  in- 
form you  that  it  appears  from  an  examination  of  the  records  that 
you  were  appointed  Flag  Officer’s  Clerk  for  duty  on  board  the 
U.  S.  S.  Hartford  January  20th,  1862,  and  you  resigned  said 
appointment  April  30,  1862.  In  view  of  the  facts  stated  and 
of  the  commendations  subsequently  made  by  Admiral  Farragut 
of  your  conduct  during  the  engagement  which  resulted  in  the 
capture  of  New  Orleans,  your  service  under  the  above-named 
appointment  appears  to  have  honourably  terminated  on  the  date 
of  your  resignation. 

Yours  very  respectfully, 

B.  F.  Tracy, 

To  Mr.  B.  S.  Osbon,  Secretary  of  the  Navy. 

New  York. 


In  a Quiet  Harbour  331 

pel  my  wonder  and  admiration — the  new  commanders 
will  as  bravely  guard  the  nation’s  welfare,  maintain 
its  honour,  and  keep  the  old  flag  flying  on  every  sea. 

In  every  war  our  Navy  has  been  the  nation’s  pride. 
During  the  early  days  of  the  great  Civil  struggle,  when 
the  Confederate  Commodore  Barron — captured  at 
Hatteras  and  confined  at  Fort  Warren — heard  of  the 
Port  Royal  affair,  he  forgot  for  a moment  his  change 
of  heart,  and  jumping  up,  exclaimed : “ I tell  you,  noth- 
ing can  stand  against  our  Navy!  ” 

Commodore  Barron  was  right — nothing  can — noth- 
ing ever  did  stand  against  the  American  Navy.  It  is 
my  humble  opinion  that  so  long  as  our  nation  remains 
united  and  free,  nothing  ever  will. 

It  also  fell  to  my  lot  to  organise  the  parade  which 
escorted  the  body  of  John  Ericsson  to  the  iron  vessel, 
the  Baltimore,  that  was  to  bear  him  to  his  native 
Sweden,  and  when  the  Saint  Gaudens  bronze  statue  of 
Farragut  was  erected  in  Madison  Square,  Mrs.  Farra- 
gut,  with  her  thoughtful  kindness,  asked  me,  as  his 
old  signal  officer  at  New  Orleans,  to  be  present,  and, 
at  the  moment  of  her  unveiling  the  statue,  which  was 
draped  with  American  colours,  to  hoist  the  admiral’s 
flag  on  a little  flag  staff  which  had  been  erected  by  its 
side. 

Thus  I was  to  render  a final  homage  to  the  man 
I had  served  and  honoured  in  life,  who  in  that  noble 
bronze  stands  there  at  the  corner  of  Madison  Square 
Park  looking  out  over  the  heads  of  the  passers-by, 
just  as  I have  seen  him  standing  amid  flame  and  battle- 
smoke  looking  toward  New  Orleans,  determined  to- 
fulfil  orders,  to  carry  out  his  undertaking,  regardless 


332  A Sailor  of  Fortune 

of  shot  and  shell.  That  was  David  Farragut’s  chief 
characteristic — to  fulfil  orders.  He  was  a God-fear- 
ing, gentle-hearted,  noble  man,  averse  to  shedding 
blood,  but  before  all  he  was  a sailor  in  the  service  of 
his  country  and  he  let  nothing  stand  between  him  and 
victory.  It  was  so  at  New  Orleans — it  was  so  later 
at  Mobile  where,  unhappily,  because  of  a wasting 
fever,  I could  not  be  with  him.  Yet  I can  understand 
how  he  looked  there,  and  just  how  his  voice  sounded 
when  he  said,  “ Damn  the  torpedoes ! Go  ahead  on 
the  engines ! ” I have  seen  the  look  and  I have  heard 
the  voice — and  now  as  I pass  that  statue  I never  fail 
to  recall  the  night  between  the  forts,  and  I lift  my  hat 
in  honour  of  the  man  to  whom  death  was  nothing — 
to  whom  his  nation’s  cause  was  all. 


THE  END 


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